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Presented  to  the 
LIBRARY  of  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 

by 
NORAH  DE  PENCTER 


BOHN'S   STANDARD   LIBRARY. 


SCHILLER'S  DRAMATIC  WORKS. 


DRAMATIC    WORKS 


OF 


FRIEDRICH     SCHILLER. 


WALLENSTEIN  AND  WILHELM  TELL 


eCtanglatetJ  in  t\}t  ©riginal  fHttre. 

BV 

S,  T.   COLERIDGE,   J.  CHURCHILL, 

AND 

SIR  THEODORE  MARTIN,   K.C.B.,   LL.D. 


LONDON:    GEORGE  BELL  &  SONS,  YORK  STREET. 

COVENT    GARDEN. 

1891. 

VA.NNEVAR  &  C^ 


PT 

W  2 


LONDON . 

REPRINTED    FROM    STEREO-PLATES    BY    WILLIAM    CLOWES   AND   SONS,    LIMITED, 

STAMFORD   STREET   AND   CHARING   CROSS. 


/TV 


\bra:^^ 


NOV  15  1965 

'SITY  OF  T0< 


10  2  2 1 1 3 


PREFACE. 


Of  the  dramatic  works  contained  in  the  following  volume, 
the  first — Wallenstein's  Camp — was  translated  by  ]Mr. 
James  Churchill,  and  appeared  originally  in  '  Fraser's 
Magazine.' 

The  I'lccoLOMiNi  and  Death  of  Wallenstein,  which 
form  the  second  and  third  parts  of  this  great  dramatic 
trilogy,  are  reprinted  from  the  admirable  rendering  of 
S.  T.  Coleridge,  completed  by  the  addition  of  all  those 
pasf^ages  which  he  had  omitted,  and  by  a  restoration  of 
Schiller's  own  arrangement  of  the  acts  and  scenes.  It  is 
said,  in  defence  of  tlie  variations  which  exist  between  the 
German  original  and  the  veision  given  by  Cokridge,  that 
he  translated  from  a  prompter's  copy  in  mannsciipt, 
before  the  drama  had  been  printed,  and  that  Schiller 
himself  subsequently  altered  it,  omitting  some  passiges, 
adding  others,  and  even  engrafting  s  veial  of  Coleridge's 
adaptations.  However  this  may  be,  the  publishers  con- 
sider it  advisable  to  give  eveiy  line  of  Coleridge's  version, 
without  the  least  alteration  (especially  as  it  contains 
more  than  one  fine  passage  not  to  be  found  in  the  printed 
editions  of  Schiller),  and  to  add,  in  brackets,  all  those 
portions  (upwards  of  250  lines)  which  have  heretuf -re 
been  omitted.  These  are  chiefly  translated  hy  Mr.  G.  F. 
Eichardson,  the  translator  of  the  iioeuis  of  Korner.  'I'hey 
will  be  found  at  pages  52,  53,  59,  79,  80,  83,  85,  95, 
100,  109,  161,  164,  169,  187,  188,  189,  li51,  253,  and 
280. 

The  translation  of  Wiliielii  Tell  is  by  Sir  Theodore 
Martin,  and  though  executed  many  years  earlier,  it  Mill 
not  be  found  Tinworthy  of  the  successful  translator  of 
'  Faust.' 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

WALLENSTELN'S  CAMP      ...                   ...  3 

THE  PICCOLOMINI 43 

THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIX 152 

WILHELM  TELL        ...                  ,         ,         .         .  Jll<> 


WALLENSTEIN'S    CAMP, 

TRANSLATED  BY  JAMES  CHURCHILL. 

THE  PICCOLOMINI, 

AND 

THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN, 

BY  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 
INCLUDING   SCENES   AND   PASSAOES   HITHERTO  OMITTED. 


"  Upon  the  whole  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  trilogy  forms,  in  its  original  tongue, 
one  of  the  most  splendid  specimens  of  tragic  art  the  world  has  witnessed  ;  and  none 
at  all,  that  the  execution  of  the  version  from  which  we  have  quuted  so  largely,  riaces 
Mr.  Coleridge  in  the  very  first  rank  of  poetical  translators.  He  is,  perhaps,  the  solitary 
example  of  a  man  of  very  great  original  genius  submitting  to  all  the  labours,  and  reap- 
ing all  the  honours,  of  this  species  of  literary  ^xcttioxi."— Blackwood,  1823. 


The  Camp  of  Walleustein  is  an  introduction  to  the  cele- 
brated tragedy  of  that  name  ;  and,  by  its  vivid  portraiture  c* 
the  state  of  the  General's  army,  gives  the  best  clue  to  the 
spell  of  his  gigantic  power.  The  blind  belief  entertained  in 
the  unfailing  success  of  his  ai-ms,  and  in  the  supernatural 
agencies  hy  which  that  success  is  secured  to  him  ;  the  unre- 
strained indulgence  of  every  passion,  and  utter  disregard  of 
all  law,  save  that  of  the  camp ;  a  hard  oppression  of  the  pea- 
santry and  plunder  of  the  country ;  have  all  swollen  the  sol- 
diery \N'ith  an  idea  of  interminable  sway.  But,  as  we  havo 
translated  the  whole,  we  shall  leave  these  recldess  marauders 
to  speak  for  themselves. 

Of  Schiller's  opinion  concerning  the  Camp,  as  a  necessary 
introduction  to  the  tragedy,  the  following  passage  taken  from 
the  Prologue  to  the  first  representation,  will  give  a  just  idea 
and  may  also  serve  as  a  motto  to  the  work  : — 

"Not  He  it  is,  who  on  the  tragic  scene 
Will  now  appear — but  in  the  fearless  bands 
Whom  his  command  alone  could  sway,  and  whom 
His  spirit  fired,  you  may  his  shadow  see. 
Until  the  bashful  Muse  shall  dare  to  bring 
Himself  before  you  in  a  living  form; 
For  power  it  was  that  bore  his  heart  astray— 
His  Camp,  alone,  elucidates  his  crime." 


THE  CAMP  OF  WALLENSTEIN. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


Sergeant-Major,  \      of  a  regiment  of  RecruU. 

Trumpeter,  S  Terzky's  carabineers.  Citizen. 

Artilleryman.  Peasant. 

Sharpshooters.  Peasant  Boy. 

Mounted  Yagers,  of  Hoik's  corps.  Cajmchin. 

Dragoons,  of  Butler's  regiment.  Regimental  Schoolmaster. 

Arquehusiers,  of  Tiefenbach's  regiment.  Sutler  Woman. 

Cuirassier,  of  a  Walloon  regiment.  Senunt  Girl. 

Cuirassier,  of  a  Lombard  regiment.  Soldiers  Boys. 

Croats.  Musicians. 

Hulans. 

(Scene — Tlie  camp  before  Pilsen,  in  Bohemia.) 


Scene  1. 
Sutlers  tents— in  front,  a  Slop-shop.— Soldiers  of  oil  colours 
arid  uniforms  thronging  about.— Tables  all  filled.— Croats 
and  Hulans  cooking  at  a  fire.—Sutler-ivoman  serving  out 
nine.— Soldier-boys  throwing  dice  on  a  drum-head  — Singing 
heard  from  the  tent. 

Enter  a  Peasant  and  his  Son. 

SON. 

Father,  I  fear  it  ^vill  come  to  barm, 
So  let  us  be  off  from  tbis  soldier  swarm  ; 
But  boist'rous  mates  will  ye  find  in  the  shoal — 
Twere  better  to  bolt  while  our  skins  are  whole. 

FATHER. 

How  now,  boy  !  the  fellows  won't  eat  us,  tbo 
They  may  be  a  little  unruly,  or  so. 
See,  yonder,  arriving  a  stranger  train, 
I'resh  comers  are  they  from  the  Saal  and  Mayn. 
Much  booty  they  bring  of  the  rarest  sort- 
Tis  ours,  if  we  cleverly  drive  our  sport 


4  wallenstktn's  cAMi'.  fsc.  1. 

A  captain,  who  fell  by  his  comrade's  sword. 
This  pair  of  sure  dice  to  me  transferr'd  ; 
To-day  I'll  just  give  them  a  trial,  to  see 
If  their  knack's  as  good  as  it  used  to  be. 
You  must  play  the  part  of  a  pitiful  devil, 
For  these  roaring  rogues,  who  so  loosely  revel, 
Are  easily  smooth'd,  and  trick'd,  and  flatter  d, 
x\nd,  free  as  it  came,  their  gold  is  scatter'd. 
But  ur— since  by  bushels  our  all  is  ta'en, 
By  spoonfuls  must  ladle  it  back  agam  ; 
And,  if  with  their  swords  they  slash  so  highly. 
We  must  look  shai-p,  boy,  and  do  them  slyly. 

[Singing  and  shouting  in  the  tent 
Hark,  how  they  shout !  God  help  the  day  ! 
'Tis  the  peasants  hide  for  their  sport  must  pay. 
Eight  months  in  our  beds  and  stalls  have  they 
Been  swarming  here,  until  far  around 
Not  a  bird  or  a  beast  is  longer  found. 
And  the  peasant,  to  quiet  his  craving  maw. 
Has  nothing  now  left  but  his  bones  to  gnaw. 
Ne'er  were  we  crush'd  with  a  heavier  hand. 
When  the  Saxon  was  lording  it  o'er  the  laud  : 
And  these  are  the  Emperor's  troops,  they  say  !— 

SON. 

From  the  Idtchen  a  couple  are  coming  this  w^y, 
Not  much  shall  we  make  by  such  blades  as  they 

FATHER. 

They're  born  Bohemian  knaves— the  two — 

Belonging  to  Terzky's  carabineers. 

Who've  lain  in  these  quarters  now  for  years 

The  worst  are  they  of  the  worthless  crew. 

Strutting,  swaggering,  proud,  and  vain. 

They  seem  to  think  they  may  well  disdain 

With  the  peasant  a  glass  of  his  ^vine  to  dram 

But,  soft— to  the  left  o'  the  fire  I  see 

Three  riflemen,  who  from  the  Tyrol  should  be 

Emmerick,  come,  boy,  to  them  will  we— 

Birds  of  this  feather  'tis  luck  to  find. 

Whose  trim's  so  spruce,  and  their  purse  well  Imed. 

They  move  towards  the  tent. 


50, 11  ]  waixenstein's  camp.  o 

Scene   II. 
Tho  above — Sergeant-Major,  Trumpeter,  Hulan 

TRUMPETER. 

What  would  the  boor  ? — Out,  rascal,  away ! 

PEASANT 

Some  victuals  and  drink,  worthy  masters,  I  pray, 
For  not  a  warm  morsel  we've  tasted  to  day. 

TRUMPETER. 

Ay,  guzzle  and  guttle — 'tis  always  the  way 

HULAN  [with  a  glass). 
Not  broken  your  fast !— there — drink,  ye  hound! 
He  leads  the  peasant  to  the  tent — the  others  come  forward. 

SER(}EANT  {to  the  Trumpeter). 
Think  ye,  they've  done  it  without  good  ground? 
Is  it  likely  they  double  our  pay  to  day, 
Merely  that  we  may  be  jolly  and  gay? 

TRUMPETER. 

Why,  the  duchess  arrives  to-day,  we  know, 
And  her  daughter  too — 

SERGEANT. 

Tush  !  that's  mere  shew — 
Tis  the  troops  collected  from  other  lands 
Who  here  at  Pilsen  have  joined  our  bands — 
We  must  do  the  best  we  can  t'  allure  'em. 
With  plentiful  rations,  and  thus  secure  'em, 
Wliere  such  abundant  fare  they  find, 
A  closer  league  with  us  to  bind 

TRUMPETER. 

Yes  .'—there's  something  in  the  wind 

SERGEANT. 

The  generals  and  commanders  too — 

TRUMPETER. 

A  rather  ominous  sight,  'tis  tnie 

SERGEANT. 

Who're  met  together  so  thickly  here — 

TRUMPETER. 

Have  plenty  of  work  on  their  hands,  that's  clear. 

SERGEANT. 

The  whisp'ring  and  sending  to  and  fro — 


wallenstein's  camp  [tJC.  III. 

TRUMPETER. 

Ay !     Ay ! 

SEKGEANT 

The  big-wig  from  Vienna,  I  trow, 
Who  since  yesterday's  seen  to  prowl  about 
In  his  golden  chain  of  ollice  there — 
Something's  at  bottom  of  this,  I'll  swear. 

TRUMPETER. 

A  bloodhound  is  he,  beyond  a  doubt, 
By  whom  the  duke's  to  be  hunted  out 

SERGEANT. 

Mark  ye  well,  man ! — they  doubt  us  now. 
And  they  fear  the  duke's  mysterious  brow ; 
He  hath  clomb  too  high  for  tJioii,  and  fain 
Would  they  beat  him  down  from  his  perch  agaia 

TRUMPETER. 

But  we  A\-ill  hold  him  still  on  high  •- 
That  all  would  think  as  you  and  1 ! 

SERGEANT. 

Our  regiment,  and  the  other  four 

WhicliTerzky  leads— the  bravest  corps 

Throughout  the  camp,  are  the  General's  own. 

And  have  been  trained  to  the  trade  by  himself  alone 

The  officers  hold  their  command  of  him. 

And  are  all  his  own,  or  for  life,  or  limb 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Croat  ivith  a  Necklace.— Sharpslwoter  follounng  him. 

The  above. 

SHARPSHOOTER. 

Croat,  where  stole  you  that  necklace,  say  ? 
Get  rid  of  it,  man— for  thee  'tis  unmeet : 
Come,  take  these  pistols  in  change,  I  pray. 

CROAT. 

Nay,  nay,  Master  Shooter,  you're  trying  to  cheat. 

SHARPSHOOTER. 

Then  I'll  give  you  this  line  blue  cap  as  woll, 
A  Lottery  prize  which  just  I've  won  : 
Look  at  the  cut  of  it — quite  the  swell ! 


gQ^  jy  1  wai.t.rnstein's  camp 

CROAT  {tidrling  the  Necklace  in  the  Sun). 
But  tMs  is  of  pearls  and  of  garnets  bright, 
See,  how  it  plays  in  the  sunny  light ! 

SHAKPSHOOTER  {tcildng  the  Necklace). 
Well,  I'll  give  you  to  boot,  my  own  canteen — 
I'm  in  love  with  this  bauble's  beautiful  sheen 

[Looks  at  it 

TRUMPETER. 

See,  now  !— how  cleanly  the  Croat  is  done : 
Snacks  !  Master  Shooter,  and  mum's  the  word. 

CROAT  {^lavinrj  flit  on  the  cap). 
I  think  your  cap  is  a  smartish  one. 

SHARPSHOOTER  {ivinkuifj  to  the  Tnim}}eter). 
'Tis  a  regular  swop— as  these  gents  have  heard. 

Scene  IV. 
The  above.— An  Artilleryman. 
ARTILLERYMAN  [to  the  Sergeant). 
How  is  it,  I  pray,  brother  Carabineer? 
Shall  we  longer  stay  here,  our  fingers  warming, 
Wliile  the  foe  in  the  field  around  is  swarming  ? 

sergeant. 
Art  thou,  indeed,  in  such  hasty  fret  ? 
Why  the  roads,  as  I  think,  are  scarce  passable  yet. 

ARTILLERYMAN. 

For  me  they  are  not— I'm  snug  enough  here— 
But  a  courier's  come,  our  Avits  to  waken 
With  the  precious  news  that  Eatisbon's  taken. 

TRUMPETER. 

Ha  !  then  we  soon  shall  have  work  in  hand. 

SERGEANT. 

Indeed  !  to  protect  the  Bavarian's  land, 
Who  hates  the  Duke,  as  we  midei-stand, 
We  won't  put  ourselves  in  a  violent  sweat. 

ARTILLERt>L\N. 

Heyday  '.—you'll  find  you're  a  wi-eacre  yet. 


8  wallensteik's  camp  [sc.  v. 

Scene  V 

The  above. — Two  Yf  ^ers. — Afterwards  Sutler-woman,  Soldki 

boy,  Schoolmaster,  Servant-girl. 

FIRST   YAGER 

See !  see ! 
Here  meet  we  a  jovial  company ! 

TRUMPETER. 

Who  can  those  green  coats  be,  I  wonder. 
That  strut  so  gay  and  sprucely  yonder  ? 

SERGEANT. 

They're  the  Yagers  of  Hoik — and  the  lace  they  wear, 
111  be  sworn,  was  ne'er  purchased  at  Leipzig  fair 

suTLER-wo}kL\.N  {bringing  xvine). 
Welcome,  good  sirs ! 

FIRST   YAGEB. 

Zounds,  how  now  ? 
Gustel  of  Blasewitz  here,  I  vow  ! 

SUTLER-WOMAN 

The  same  in  sooth — and  you,  I  know. 

Are  the  lanky  Peter  of  Itzeho  : 

Who  at  Gliicksta-lt  n'-.ce,  in  a  revellmg  night, 

With  the  wags  of  our  regiment,  put  to  flight 

All  his  father's  shiners — then  crown 'd  the  fun — 

FIRST   YAGER. 

By  changing  his  pen  for  a  rifle  gun 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

We're  old  acquaintance,  then,  'tis  clear 

FIRST   YAGER. 

And  to  think  we  should  meet  in  Bohemia  hero! 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Oh,  here  to-day — to-morrow  yonder — 
As  the  rude  war-broom,  in  rcistless  trace. 
Scatters  and  sweeps  us  from  place  to  place. 
Meanwhile  I've  been  doom'd  far  roimd  to  wander. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

So  one  would  think,  by  the  look  of  your  face 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Up  the  country  I've  rambled  to  Temsewor, 
Whither  I  went  with  the  baggage  car. 


g(,  v.]  WAIXENSTKIN  8  CAMP 

When  Mansfeld  before  us  we  chased  away; 

With  the  Duke  near  Stralsund  next  we  lay, 

Where  trade  went  all  to  pot,  I  may  say. 

1  jogged  with  the  succours  to  Mantua ; 

And  back  again  came,  under  Feria 

Then,  joining  a  Spanish  regiment, 
I  took  a  short  cut  across  to  Ghent; 
And  now  to  Bohemia  I'm  come  to  get 
Old  scores  paid  off,  that  are  standmg  yet. 
If  a  helping  hand  by  the  Diike  be  lent— 
And  yonder  you  see  my  sutler's  tent, 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Well,  all  things  seem  in  a  flourishing  way, 

But  what  have  vou  done  witt  the  Seotchnian,  say, 

Who  once  in  the  camp  was  youi'  constant  flame  . 

SUTLER-WOiLvX. 

A  ^•illain,  who  trickd  me  clean,  that  same  : 
He  bolted,  and  took  to  himself,  whate'er 
I'd  managed  to  scrape  together,  or  spare, 
Leaving  me  naught  but  the  urchin  there 

soLmER-BOY  (sprinriing  foniard). 
Mother,  is  it  my  papa  you  name  ? 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Well,  the  Emperor  now  must  father  this  elt 
For  the  army  must  ever  recruit  itself. 

SCHOOLMASTER. 

Forth  to  the  school,  ye  rogue— d'ye  hear  ? 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Ho,  too,  of  a  narrow  room  has  fear. 

SERVANT  GIRL  {entering). 
Aunt,  they'll  be  off. 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

I  come  apace. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

What  gj-psy  is  that  with  the  roguish  face  ? 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Mv  sister's  child  from  the  south,  is  she. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Ay,  ay,  a  sweet  little  niece— I  see. 


10  WALLENSTEIn's   camp  [80.  VI. 

SECOND  YAGER  {holding  the  girl\ 
Softly,  my  pretty  one !  stay  with  m«r 

GIRL. 

The  customers  wait,  sir,  and  I  must  go. 

[Disengages  herself,  and  exit. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

That  maiden's  a  dainty  morsel,  I  trow  I 
And  her  aunt — by  Heav'n  !  I  mind  me  well, 
"When  the  best  of  the  regiment  loved  her  so, 
To  blows  for  her  beautiful  face  they  fell. 
What  different  folks  one's  doomed  to  Itnow  ! 
How  time  glides  off  with  a  ceaseless  flow ! 
And  what  sights  as  yet  we  may  live  to  see ! 

{To  the  Sergeant  and  Trumpeter.) 
Your  health,  good  sirs,  may  we  be  free, 
A  seat  beside  you  here  to  take  ? 

Scene  VI 
The  Yagers,  Sergeant,  and  Trumpeter. 

SERGEANT. 

We  thank  ye — and  room  will  gladly  make 
To  Bohemia  welcome. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Snug  enough  here ! 
In  the  land  of  the  foe  our  quai-ters  were  queer 

TRUMPETER. 

Tou  hav'n't  the  look  on't— you're  spruce  to  view. 

SERGEANT. 

Ay,  faith,  on  the  Saal,  and  in  Meissen  too. 
Your  praises  are  heard  from  the  lips  of  few 

SECOND    YAGER. 

Tush,  man  ! — why,  what  the  plague  d'ye  mean  i' 
The  Croat  had  swept  the  fields  so  clean, 
There  was  little,  or  nothing,  for  us  to  glean 

TRUMPETER. 

Yet  your  pointed  collar  is  clean  and  sightly, 
And,  then,  your  hose,  that  sit  so  tightly ! 
Your  linen  so  fine,  with  the  hat  and  feather 
Make  a  show  of  the  smartest  altogether ! 


gg_  yj-]  waixenstein's  camp.  1^ 

(To  Sergeant.)  . 

That  fortune  should  upon  younkers  shme- 
While  nothing  in  your  way  comes,  or  mi.e 

SERGEANT. 

But  then  Ave're  the  Friedlander's  regiment, 
?nd,  thus,  may  honour  and  homage  claim. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

For  US,  no^v,  that's  no  great  compliment, 
We  also,  hear  the  Friedlanders  name. 

'  SERGEANT. 

True-you  form  part  of  the  general  mass. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

And  Tou,  I  suppose,  are  a  sepai-ate  class ! 

The  difference  lies  m  the  coats  ^.ejear 

lid  I  have  no  wish  to  change  mth  you  there! 

SERGEANT. 

Sir  Yacer,  I  can't  but  with  pity  melt, 

men  I  think  how  much  among  boors  you  ve  dweit 

The  clever  knack  and  the  proper  tone. 

Are  caught  by  the  General  s  side  alone. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Then  the  lesson  is  wofully  t^^'^^J^;;^:- 
How  he  hawks  and  spits,  indeed,  I  ma^  bay 
?ou  ve  copied  and  caught  in  the  cleverest  way 
Rn^his  spirit,  his  genius-oh,  these  I  ween. 
On  your  g^^^^  P--de  -e  but  seldom  seen. 

•'  SECOND    YAGER. 

Why.  zounds!  ask  for  us  wherever  you  will, 
Friedland's  wild  hunt  is  our  title  still ! 
Neve    shaming  the  name  all  undaunted  we  go 
Alike  thro'  the  field  of  a  friend,  or  a  foe  : 
^vonX  the  rising  stalk,  or  the  yellow  coni, 
wTltw  t^^^^^  the  blast  of  Hoik's  Yager  horn 
In  the  flash  of  an  eye,  we  are  far  or  neai, 
Swift  as  the  deluge,  or  there  or  here— 
t  at  midnight  dark,  when  the  flames  outbreak 
In  the  silent  dwelling  where  none  awake  , 
Vain  is  the  hope  in  weapons  or  flight, 
Kor  order  nor  discipline  thwait  its  mighty 
Then  stru-^'des  the  maid  m  our  sinewy  arms, 
But  war  la  no  pity,  and  scorns  alarms. 


1 2  WALLENSTEIN  S   CAMP.  [SO.  "H 

Go  ask — I  speak  not  with  boastful  tongue — 
In  Bareuth,  Westphalia,  Voigtland,  where'er 
Our  troop  h-^a  traversed — go,  ask  them  there — 
Children  anrt  o-hildren's  children  long, 
When  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  are  o'er 
Of  Hoik  will  tell  and  his  Yager  corps. 

SERGEANT. 

Why,  hark !     Must  a  soldier  then  be  made 
By  driving  this  riotous,  roaring  trade  ! 
"Tis  drilling  that  makes  him.  skill  and  sense- 
Perception— thought— intelligence, 

FIRST   YAGER, 

'Tis  liberty  makes  him  ! — Here's  a  fuss ! 

That  I  should  such  twaddle  as  this  discuss. 

Was  it  for  this,  that  I  left  the  school? 

That  the  scribbling  desk,  and  the  slavish  rule, 

And  the  narrow  walls,  that  our  spirits  cramp, 

Should  be  met  with  again  in  the  midst  of  the  camp  ? 

No  ! — Idle  and  heedless.  Ill  take  my  way. 

Hunting  for  novelty  every  day ; 

Trust  to  the  moment  with  dauntless  mind. 

And  give  not  a  glance  or  before  or  behind. 

For  this  to  the  Emperor  I  sold  my  hide. 

That  no  other  care  I  might  have  to  bide. 

Through  the  foe's  fierce  firing  bid  me  ride, 

Through  fiithomless  Rhine,  in  his  roaring  flow, 

Where  ev'ry  third  man  to  the  devil  may  go, 

At  no  bar  will  you  find  me  boggling  there ; 

But,  farther  than  this,  'tis  my  special  prayer. 

That  I  may  not  be  botlier'd  with  aught  like  caro 

SERGEANT. 

If  this  be  your  wish,  you  needn't  lack  it, 
Tis  granted  to  all  with  the  soldier's  jacket. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

What  a  fuss  and  a  bother,  forsooth,  was  made 
By  that  man-tormentor,  Gustavus  the  Swede, 
Whose  camp  was  a  church,  where  prayers  were  said 
At  morning  reveille  and  evening  tattoo  ; 
And,  whenever  it  chanced  that  we  frisky  grew, 
k  Bermon  himself  from  the  saddle  he'd  read. 


gCi  VI.  '  WAtLENSTEIS  S   CAMP. 

SERGEANT. 

Ay,  that  was  a  man  vrith  the  fear  of  God. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Girls  he  detested  ;  and,  what's  rather  odd, 

If  caught  with  a  wench,  you  in  wedlock  were  tucii  d- 

I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  so  off  I  pack'd. 

SERGEANT. 

Their  discipline  now  has  a  trifle  slack'd. 

FIRST  TAGER. 

Well,  next  to  the  League  I  rode  over ;  their  men 
Were  must'ring  in  haste  against  Magdeburg  then. 
Ha  !  that  was  another  guess  sort  of  a  thing  1 — 
In  frolic  and  fun  we'd  a  glorious  s\ving ; 
With  gaming,  and  drinking,  and  girls  at  call, 
I'faith.  sirs,  our  sport  was  by  no  means  small. 
For  Tilly  knew  how  to  command,  that's  plain  ; 
He  held  himself  in,  but  gave  us  the  rein ; 
And,  long  as  he  hadn't  the  bother  of  paying. 
•'  Live,  and  let  live  ! "  was  the  General's  sayiug. 
But  fortune  soon  gave  him  the  slip ;  and  ne'er, 
Since  the  day  of  that  villanous  Leipzig  aJOfair, 
Would  aught  go  aright.     "Twas  of  little  avail 
That  we  tried,  for  our  plans  were  sure  to  fail. 
If  now  we  drew  nigh,  and  rapp'd  at  a  door, 
Ko  gi'eeting  awaited,  'twas  opened  no  more  ; 
From  place  to  place  we  went  sneaking  about, 
And  found  that  their  stock  of  respect  was  out 
Then  touch'd  I  the  Saxon  bounty,  and  thought 
Their  sorA-ice  with  fortune  must  needs  be  fraught 

SERGEANT. 

You  join'd  'em  then  just  in  the  nick  to  share 
Bohemia's  plunder  ? 

FIRST   YAGER. 

I'd  small  luck  there 
Strict  discipline  sternly  i-uled  the  day, 
Nor  dared  we  a  foeman's  force  display 
They  set  us  to  guard  the  imperial  forts 
And  plagued  us  all  with  the  farce  of  the  comt.$ 
War  they  waged  as  a  jest  'twere  thought — _ 
And  but  half  a  heart  to  the  business  brougiit 


13 


14  wallenstein's  camp  [sc.  vi. 

They  would  break  witli  none ;  and  thus  'twas  plain. 
Small  honour  'mong  them  could  a  soldier  gain. 
So  heartily  sick  in  the  end  grew  I, 
That  my  mind  was  the  desk  again  to  try; 
When  suddenly,  rattlmg  near  and  far, 
The  Friedlander's  drum  was  heard  to  war 

SERGEANT. 

And  how  long  here  may  you  mean  to  stay  ? 

FIRST   YAGER. 

You  jest,  man. — So  long  as  he  bears  the  sway, 

By  my  soul !  not  a  thought  of  change  have  I 

Where  better  than  here  could  the  soldier  lie? 

Here  the  true  fashion  of  war  is  found, 

And  the  cut  of  power's  on  all  things  round ; 

While  the  spirit,  whereby  the  movement's  given^ 

Mightily  stirs,  like  the  winds  of  heaven, 

The  meanest  trooper  in  all  the  throng. 

With  a  hearty  step  shall  I  tramp  along ; 

On  a  burgher's  neck  as  undaunted  tread, 

As  our  General  does  on  the  prince's  head. 

As  'twas  in  the  times  of  old  'tis  now. 

The  sword  is  the  sceptre,  and  all  must  bow. 

One  crime  alone  can  I  understand. 

And  that's  to  oppose  the  word  of  command. 

What's  not  forbidden,  to  do  make  bold. 

And  none  will  ask  you  what  creed  you  hold. 

Of  just  two  things  in  this  world  I  wot, 

What  belongs  to  the  army,  and  what  does  not 

To  tlie  banner  alone  is  my  seiwicc  brought 

SERGEANT 

Thus,  Yager,  I  like  thee — thou  speak'st,  I  vow, 
With  the  tone  of  a  Friedland  trooper  now 

FIRST    YAGER 

"lis  not  as  an  office  he  holds  command. 
Or  a  power  received  from  the  Emperor's  hand , 
For  the  Emperor's  service  what  should  he  caro  "t 
What  better  for  liim  does  the  Emperor  fare  ? 
With  the  mighty  power,  he  wields  at  will, 
Has  ever  he  shelter'd  the  land  from  ill  ? 


o_  _  T  walle:?stein's  camp  IS 

oU    VI.  I 

No ;  a  soldier-ldngdom  he  seeks  to  raise, 
And  for  this  -^ould  set  the  world  in  a  blaze, 
Daring  to  risk  and  to  compass  all 

TRUMPETER. 

Hush— who  shall  such  words  as  these  let  fall? 

FIRST   TAGER. 

Whatever  I  think  may  be  said  by  me, 
For  the  General  tells  us,  the  word  is  free 

SERGEA_ST. 

True — that  he  said  so  I  fully  agi'ee, 
I  was  standing  by.     "  The  word  is  free— 
The  deed  is  dumb— obedience  blind  !" 
His  very  words  I  can  call  to  mind 

FIRST   TAGER. 

I  know  not  if  these  were  his  words  or  no, 
But  he  said  the  thing,  and  'tis  even  so, 

SECOND  TAGER. 

Victory  ne'er  will  his  flag  forsake. 

Though  she's  apt  from  others  a  turn  to  take : 

Old  Tilly  outlived  his  fame's  decline, 

But,  rmder  the  banner  of  Wallenstein, 

There  am  I  certain  that  ^^ctol7's  mine  ! 

Fortune  is  spell-bound  to  him,  and  must  peld* 

Whoe'er  under  Friedland  shall  take  the  field 

Is  sure  of  a  supematural  shield : 

For,  as  all  the  world  is  aware  full  well, 

The  Duke  has  a  devil  in  hire  from  hell 

SERGEANT. 

In  truth  that  he's  charm'd  is  past  a  doubt,_ 
"For  we  know  how,  at  Lutzen's  bloody  affair, 
Where  firing  was  thickest,  he  still  was  there, 
As  coolly  as  might  be,  sirs,  riding  about 
The  hat  on  his  head  was  shot  thro'  and  thro , 
In  coat  and  boots  the  bullets  that  flew 
Left  traces  full  clear  to  all  men's  ^'iew ; 
But  none  got  so  far  as  to  scratch  off  his  skin,^ 
For  the  ointment  of  hell  was  too  well  rubb'd  ia 

FIRST   TAGER. 

What  wonder  so  strange  can  you  all  see  there? 

An  elk-skin  jacket  he  happens  to  wear. 

And  through  it  the  bullets  can  make  no  way. 


Id  WAtXEKSTFINS    CAMP  [bO.  Vll 

SERGEANT 

Tis  an  ointment  of  \vitches'  herbs,  I  say, 
Kneaded  and  cook'd  by  unholy  spell 

TRUMPETER. 

No  doubt  'tis  thu  work  of  the  powers  of  hell 

SERGEANT. 

That  he  reads  in  the  stars,  we  also  hear. 
WTiere  the  future  he  sees — distant  or  near — 
But  I  know  better  the  tnith  of  the  case  • 
A  little  grey  man,  at  the  dead  of  night, 
Through  bolted  doors  to  him  will  pace — 
The  sentinels  oft  have  hailed  the  sight, 
And  something  great  was  sure  to  be  nigh, 
When  this  little  Grey  Coat  had  glided  by. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Ay,  ay,  he's  sold  himself  to  the  devil, 
Wherefore,  my  lads,  let's  feast  and  revel. 

Scene  VII. 
T/ie  above. — Recruit,  Citizen,  Dragoon. 
CTTw  lieci'uit  advances  from  the  tent,  wearing  a  tin  cap  on  hu 
head,  and  carrying  a  wine  flask.) 

RECRUIT. 

To  father  and  uncle  pray  make  my  bow, 
And  bid  'em  good  bye — I'm  a  soldier  now. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

See,  yonder  they're  bringing  us  something  new 

CITIZEN. 

O,  Franz,  remember,  this  day  you'll  rue 
RECRUIT  {sings). 
The  drum  and  the  fife, 

War's  rattling  throng, 
And  a  wandering  life  ' 

The  world  along ! 
Swift  steed — and  a  hand 
To  curb  and  command^ 
With  a  blade  by  the  sidr 
We're  off  far  and  wido, 


SC.  VII.]  WAIJiENSTEIN's   CAMP.  17 

As  jolly  and  free, 
As  the  finch  in  its  glee, 
On  thiclset  or  tree, 
Under  Heaven's  wide  hollow — 
Hurrah!  for  the  Friedlander's  banner  111  follow! 

SECOND    YAGER. 

Forogad !  a  jolly  companion,  though. 

[They  salute  Jdni. 

CITIZEN. 

He  comes  of  good  Idn ;  now  pray  let  him  go. 

FIEST   YAGER. 

And  ive  weren't  found  in  the  streets  you  must  Vncw 

CITIZEN. 

I  tell  you  his  wealth  is  a  plentiful  stock ; 

Just  feel  the  fine  stuff  that  he  wears  for  a  frccx 

TRUMPETER. 

The  Emperor's  coat  is  the  best  he  can  wear. 

CITIZEN. 

To  a  cap  manufactory  he  is  the  heir. 

SECOND    YAGER. 

The  will  of  a  man  is  his  fortune  alone 

CITIZEN. 

His  grandmother's  shop  will  soon  be  his  own. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Pish !    traflBc  in  matches  !    who  would  do  't  ? 

CITIZEN. 

A  wine-shop  his  godfather  leaves,  to  boot, 
A  cellar  with  twenty  casks  of  wine. 

TRUMPETER. 

These  with  his  comrades  he'll  surely  share 

SECOND    YAGER. 

Hark  ye,  lad — be  a  camp-brother  of  mine 

CITIZEN. 

A  bride  he  leaves  sitting,  in  tears,  apart 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Good — that  now's  a  proof  of  an  iron  heart 

CITIZEN, 

His  grandmother's  sure  to  die  with  sorrow 

c 


18  waixenstein's  camp  [bo  Vll. 

SFXOMD    YAGER. 

The  better — for  tbeu  he  "11  inherit  to-moiTOW 
BERGEAKT  (odvances  gravely,  and  lays  his  hand  on  theB^cruWs 
tin  caj}). 
The  matter,  no  doubt,  you  have  duly  weighed, 
And  here  a  new  man  of  yourself  have  made; 
With  hanger  and  helm,  sir,  you  now  belong 
To  a  nobler  and  more  distinguished  throng. 
Thus,  a  loftier  spirit,  'twere  well  to  uphold— 

FIBST   YAGER. 

And,  specially,  never  be  sparing  of  gold. 

SERGEANT. 

In  Fortune's  ship,  with  an  onward  gale. 

My  friend,  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  sail 

The  earth-ball  is  open  before  you— yet  there 

Nought's  to  be  gained,  but  by  those  who  dare. 

Stupid  and  sluggish  your  citizen's  found, 

Like  a  dyer's  dull  jade,  in  his  ceaseless  round- 

While  tlie  soldier  can  be  whatever  he  ^\ill. 

For  war  o'er  the  earth  is  the  watchword  still. 

Just  look  now  at  me,  and  the  coat  I  wear, 

You  see  that  the  Emperor's  baton  I  bear— 

And  all  good  government,  over  the  earth, 

You  must  know  from  the  baton  alone  has  birth ; 

For  the  sceptre  that's  sway'd  by  the  kingly  banc? 

Is  nought  but  a  baton,  we  understand.^ 

And  he  who  has  corporals  rank  obtain 'd. 

Stands  on  the  ladder  where  all's  to  be  gained. 

And  you,  like  another,  may  momit  to  that  height — 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Provided  you  can  but  read  and  write. 

SERGEANT. 

Now,  hark  to  an  instance  of  this,  from  me, 
And  one,  which  I've  lived  myself  to  see  : 
There's  Buttler,  the  chief  of  dragoons,  why  he, 
Whose  rank  was  not  higher  a  whit  than  miue. 
Some  thirty  years  since,  at  Cologne  on  Rhine, 
[s  a  Major-General  now — because 
He  put  himself  fon^ard  and  gained  applause ; 


sc.  VTi.]  wallenstein's  camp.  19 

Filling  the  v.-orld  -with  liis  martial  fame, 
"V^Tiile  slept  my  merits  without  a  name. 
And  ev'n  the  Friedlander's  self — I've  heard — 
Our  General  and  all  commanding  Lord, 
Who  now  can  do  what  he  will  at  a  word, 
Had  at  first  but  a  private  squire's  degree ; 
In  the  goddess  of  war  yet  trusting  free, 
He  rear'd  the  greatness,  which  now  you  see. 
And,  after  the  Emperor,  next  is  he. 
Who  knows  what  more  he  may  mean  or  get  ? 
Slily.)  For  all-day's  eveniug  isn't  come  yet. 

FIEST   TAGEE. 

He  was  little  at  first,  tho'  now  so  great — 

For,  at  Altorf,  in  student's  go^ii,  he  play'd, 

By  your  leave,  the  part  of  a  roaring  blade, 

And  rattled  away  at  a  queerish  rate. 

His  fag  he  had  well  nigh  kill'd  by  a  blow. 

And  their  Nur'mberg  worships  swore  he  should  go 

To  jail  for  his  pains, — if  he  liked  it,  or  no. 

'Twas  a  new-built  nest  to  be  christen'd  by  him, 

Who  first  should  be  lodged.     Well,  what  was  his  whim'^ 

Why,  he  sent  his  dog  forward  to  lead  the  way, 

And  they  call  the  jail  from  the  dog  to  this  day. 

That  was  the  game  a  brave  fellow  should  play, 

And  of  all  the  great  deeds  of  the  General,  none 

E'er  ticlded  my  fancy,  like  this  one. 

[Ditring  this  speech,  the  Second  Yarjer  has  begun  toyiny 
with  the  G-irl,  who  has  heen  in  u'aitingA 
DKAGOOK  [stepping  between  them). 
Comrade — give  over  this  sport,  I  pray 

SECOND    YAGER. 

Why,  who  the  &.evi\.  shall  say  me  nay? 

DRAGOON. 

I've  only  to  tell  you  the  girl's  my  own 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Such  a  morsel  as  this,  for  himself  alone ! — 
Dragoon,  why  say,  art  thou  crazy  grown  ? 

SECOND    YAGER. 

In  the  camp  to  be  keeping  a  wench  for  one ! 
No',  the  light  of  a  pretty  girl's  face  must  fall, 
Like  the  beams  of  the  suu  to  gladden  us  all.  (Kisses  her.) 

c  2 


20  WALLEN8TEINS   C^MP.  [SC.  VIII. 

DRAGOON  {tears  her  aivay). 
I  tell  you  again,  that  it  shan't  be  doue. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

The  pipers  are  coming,  lads!  now  for  fun! 

SECOND  YAGER  [to  Dragoon). 
I  sha  n't  be  far  off,  should  you  look  for  me. 

SERGEANT. 

Peace,  my  good  fello^vs ! — a  kiss  goes  free. 

Scene  VIII. 
Enter  Miners,  and  play  a  Waltz— at  first  slowly,  and  after- 
uards  quicker. — The  First  Yager  dances  tilth  the  Girl,  tJie 
Sutler-woman  tcith  the  Recruit.— The  Girl  S2)rings  auay,  and 
the  Yager,  pursuing  her,  seizes  hold  of  a  Capuchin  Friar 
just  entering. 

CAPDCHIN. 

Hurrah!  halloo!  tol,  lol,  de  rol,  le! 

The  fun's  at  its  height!  Ill  not  be  away! 

Is't  an  army  of  Christians  that  jom  in  such  works? 

Or  are  we  all  tura'd  Anabaptists  and  Turks  ? 

Is  the  Sabbath  a  day  for  this  sport  in  the  land. 

As  tho'  the  great  God  had  the  gout  in  his  hand, 

And  thus  couldn't  smite  in  the  midst  of  your  band  ? 

Say,  is  this  a  time  for  your  revelling  shouts, 

For  your  banquetings,  feasts,  and  holiday  bouts? 

Quid  hie  statis  otiosi?  declare 

Why,  folding  your  arms,  sUand  ye  lazily  there? 

While  the  furies  of  war  on  the  Danube  now  fare, 

And  Bavaria's  bulwark  is  Ipng  full  low, 

And  Ratisbon's  fast  in  the  clutch  of  the  foe. 

Yet,  the  army  lies  here  in  Bohemia  still, 

And  caring  for  nought,  so  their  paunches  they  fill ! 

Bottles  far  rather  than  buttles  you  11  get. 

And  your  bills  than  your  broad  swords  more  readily  wet ; 

With  the  wenches,  I  ween  is,  your  dearest  concern, 

And  you'd  rather  roast  o.ven  than  Oxenstiem. 

In  sackcloth  and  ashes  while  Christendom's  grieving, 

No  thought  has  the  soldier  his  guzzle  of  leaving. 

Tis  a  time  of  misery,  groans,  and  tears ! 

Portentous  tho  face  of  the  heavens  appears! 


VIII.]  wallexstein's  camp  21 

And  forth  from  the  clouds  behold  blood-red, 
The  Lord's  war-mantle  is  downward  spread — 
While  the  comet  is  thinist  as  a  threatening  rod. 
From  the  window  of  Heaven  by  the  hand  of  God- 
The  world  is  but  one  vast  house  of  woe, 
The  Ark  of  the  Church  stems  a  bloody  flow, 
The  Holy  Empire— God  help  the  same! 
Has  wretchedly  sunk  to  a  hollow  name. 
The  Rhines  gay  stream  has  a  goiy  gleam. 
The  cloister's  nests  are  robbed  by  roysters ; 
The  church-lands  now  are  changed  to  lurch-lands ; 
Abbacies,  and  all  other  holy  foundations 
Now  are  but  Robber-sees— rogues'  habitations. 
And  thus  is  each  once- blest  German  state, 
Deep  sunk  in  the  doom  of  the  desolate ! 
Whence  comes  all  this?  0,  that  will  I  tell— 
It  comes  of  your  doings,  of  sin,  and  of  hell ; 
Of  the  horrible,  heathenish  lives  ye  lead, 
Soldiers  and  oflacers,  all  of  a  breed. 
For  sm  is  the  magnet,  on  every  hand, 
That  draws  your  steel  throughout  the  land . 
As  the  onion  causes  the  tear  to  flow,^ 
So  Vice  must  ever  be  followed  by  Woe — 
The  W  duly  succeeds  the  V, 
This  is  the'order  of  A,  B,  C. 

Ubl  erit  victoria  sj^es. 
Si  oifenditur  Deus?  which  says. 
How,  pray  ye,  shall  ^ictoiy  e'er  come  to  pass, 
If  thus  vou  play  truant  from  sermon  and  mass, 
And  do  nothing  but  lazily  loll  o'er  the  glass? 
The  woman,  we're  told  in  the  Testament. 
Found  the  penny,  in  seai-ch  whereof  she  went 
Saul  met  with  his  father's  asses  again, 
And  Joseph  his  precious  fraternal  train, 
But  he,  who  'mong  soldiers  shall  hope  to  see 
God's  fear,  or  shame,  or  discipline — he 
From  his  toil,  beyond  doubt,  will  baflled  return, 
Tho'  a  hu)idred  lamps  in  the  search  he  bum 
To  the  wilderness  preacher,  th'  Evangelist  says, 
The  soldiers,  too,  throng'd  to  repent  of  their  ways. 
And  had  themselves  christen'd  in  former  days. 


2i  wallenstein's  camp  ts<*  viii. 

Quid  faciemus  ncs  ?  they  said : 

Tow'rd  Abraham's  bosom  what  path  must  ^Ye  tread? 

Et  ait  illis,  and,  said  he, 
Neminein  concutiatis  ; 

From  bother  and  wrongs  leave  your  neighbours  free. 
Neqne  calumniam  faciatis ; 
And  deal  nor  in  slander  nor  lies,  dye  see  ? 
Contenti  estate — content  ye,  pray, 
Stipendiis  vestris — with  your  pay — 
And  curse  for  ever  each  evil  way. 

There  is  a  command — thou  shalt  not  utter 
The  name  of  the  Lord  thy  God,  in  vain  ; 
But,  wliere  is  it  men  most  blasphemies  mutter  ? 
Why  here,  m  Duke  Friedland's  head  quarters,  "tis  plaiu 
If  for  every  thunder! — and  every  blast ! 
Which  blazing  ye  from  your  tongue-points  cast, 
The  bells  were  but  rung,  in  the  countiy  round. 
Not  a  bellman,  I  ween,  would  there  soon  be  found ; 
And  if  for  each  and  ev'ry  unholy  prayer 
Which  to  vent  from  your  jabbering  jaws  you  dare. 
From  your  noddles  were  pluck'd  but  the  smallest  hair, 
Ev'ry  crop  would  be  smooih'd  ere  the  sun  went  down, 
Tho'  at  morn  'twere  as  bushy  as  Absalom's  cro^vn. 
Now  Joshua,  methinks,  was  a  soldier  as  well — 
By  the  arm  of  lung  David  the  Philistine  fell ; 
But  where  do  we  find  it  written,  I  pray, 
That  they  ever  blasphemed  in  this  villanous  way? 
One  would  thhik  ye  need  stretch  your  jaws  no  more, 
To  ciy,  "  God  help  us ! "  than  "  Zounds  ! "  to  roar. 
But,  by  the  liquor  that's  pour'd  in  the  cask,  we  know 
With  what  it  will  bubble  and  overflow. 

Again,  it  is  Aviitten — thou  shalt  not  steal, 
And  this  you  follow,  i'faith-!  to  the  letter. 
For  open  faced  robbeiy  suits  ye  better. 
The  gripe  of  your  vulture  claws  you  lix 
On  all — and  your  wiles  and  rascally  tricks 
Make  the  gold  unhid  in  our  coffers  now. 
And  the  calf  unsafe  while  yet  in  the  cow — 
Ye  take  both  the  egg  and  the  hen,  I  vow. 
Contenti  estate — the  preacher  said ; 
Which  means — be  content  with  yo\u*  army  bread. 


SC,  Vlll.]  WALLEXSTET^J'S   CAMP  23 

But  how  should  the  slaves  not  from  duty  swen-e 
The  mischief  begins  with  the  lord  they  serve 
Just  like  the  members  so  is  the  bead. 
I  should  like  to  know  who  can  tell  me  his  creed. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

Sir  Priest,  'gainst  om'selves  rail  on  as  you  will — 
Of  the  General  we  warn  you  to  breathe  no  ill 

CAPUCHIN. 

Ne  custodias  gregem  meam  ! 

An  Ahab  is  he,  and  a  Jerobeam, 

Who  the  people  from  faith's  unerring  way, 

To  the  worship  of  idols  would  turn  astray 

TRUMPETER   and   RECRUIT 

Let  us  not  hear  that  again,  we  pray. 

CAPUCHIN'. 

Such  a  Bramarbas,  whose  iron  tooth 

Would  seize  all  the  strongholds  of  earth,  forsooth  !— 

Did  he  not  boast,  with  ungodly  tongue. 

That  Stralsund  must  needs  to  his  grasp  be  wrung, 

Though  to  heaven  itself  with  a  chain  'twere  strung? 

TRUMPETER 

Will  none  put  a  stop  to  his  slanderous  bawl  ? 

CAPUCHIN. 

A  wizard  he  is  ! — and  a  sorcerer  Saul ! — 

Holofenies  ! — a  Jehu  !— denying,  we  know, 

Like  St.  Peter,  his  Master  and  Lord  below ; 

And  hence  must  he  quail  when  the  cock  doth  crow — 

BOTH   YAGERS 

Now,  parson,  prepare  ;  for  thy  doom  is  nigh. 

CAPUCHIN. 

A  fox  more  cimnuig  than  Herod  I  trow — 

TRUMPETER  and  both  YAGERS  {pressing  against  him). 
Silence,  again,— if  thou  wouldst  not  die  I 

CROATS  [interfering). 
Stick  to  it,  father  ;  we'll  shield  you,  ne'er  fear, 
The  close  of  your  preachment  now  let's  hear. 

CAPUCHIN  [still  louder). 
A  Nebuchadnezzar,  in  towering  pride ! 
And  a  vile  and  heretic  sinner  beside  I 


24  wallenstein's  camp,  [sc.  ix. 

He  calls  himself  rightly  the  stone  of  a  wall ; 

For,  faith  !  he's  a  stumbling-stone  to  us  all. 

And  ne'er  can  the  Emperor  have  peace  indeed, 

Till  of  Fried'and  himself  the  land  is  freed. 

[During  the  last  passage,  which  he  pronounces  in 
an  derated  voice,  he  has  been  gradually  retreat- 
ing, the  Croats  keeping  the  other  Soldiers  off 

Scene  IX. 
TJie  above,  without  the  Capuchin. 
FIRST  TAGER  {to  the  Sergeant). 
But,  tell  us,  what  meant  he  'bout  chanticleer, 
Whose  crowing  the  General  dares  not  hear? 
No  doubt  it  was  uttered  in  spite  and  scorn. 

SERGEANT. 

Listen — 'tis  not  so  untrue  as't  appears  ; 
For  Friedland  was  rather  mysteriously  bom, 
And  is  'specially  troubled  with  ticklish  ears 
He  can  never  suffer  the  mew  of  a  cat : 
And,  when  the  cock  crows,  he  starts  thereat. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

He's  one  and  the  same  Anth  the  lion  in  that. 

SERGEANT 

Mouse-still  must  all  arouud  him  creep. 
Strict  -watch  in  this  the  sentinels  keep. 
For  he  ponders  on  matters  most  grave  and  deep. 

[Voices  iji  the  Tent.     A  Tumult. 
Seize  the  rascal !  lay  on !  lay  on  ! 
peasant's  voice. 
Help  1 — mercy  ! — help  ! 

OTHERS. 

Peace !  peace  !  begone ! 

FIRST  YAGER. 

Deuce  take  me,  but  yonder  the  swords  are  out ! 

SECOND  YAGER. 

Then  I  must  be  off,  and  see  what  'tis  about. 

[Yagers  enter  the  TeiA 
SUTLER-WOMAN  {comes  foricard). 
k  scandalous  villain  !--a  scurvy  thief! 


SC.  X.] 


WALLESSTEINS   CAMP 


TRUMPETER. 

Good  hostess,  the  cause  of  this  clamorous  grief  ? 

SCTLER-WOMAK. 

A  cut-purse  1 — a  scoundrel !  the  villain  I  call. 
That  the  like  in  mv  tent  should  ever  hefall ! 
I'm  disgraced  and  undone  'nith  the  officers  all! 

SERGEANT. 

Well,  coz,  what  is  it? 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Why,  what  should  it  be  ? 
But  a  peasant  they've  taken  just  now  with  me  - 
A  rogue  with  false  dice,  to  favour  his  play. 

TRUMPETER. 

See  :  they're  bringing  the  boor  and  his  son  this  w&y 

Scene  X. 
Soldiers  dragging  in  the  Peasant,  bound. 

FIRST  YAGER. 

He  must  hang  ! 

SHARPSHOOTERS  and  DRAGOONS 

To  the  provost  come  on  I 

SERGEANT 

Tis  the  latest  order  that  forth  has  gone. 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

In  an  hour  I  hope  to  behold  him  swinging! 

SERGEANT. 

Bad  work  bad  wages  will  needs  be  biinging. 
FIRST  ARQUEBUSiER  {to  the  Others). 
This  comes  of  their  desperation.     We 
First  rum  them  out  and  out.  d'ye  see  ; 
Which  tempts  them  to  steal,  as  it  seems  to  me 

TRUMPETER. 

How  now  1  the  rascal's  cause  would  you  plead  ? 
The  cur ! — the  devil  is  in  you  indeed  ' 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

The  boor  is  a  man— as  a  body  may  say. 

FIRST  YAGER  (to  the  TrumpeUr). 
Let  'em  go !— they're  of  Tiefenbach's  corps,  the  nilere, 
A  glorious  train  of  glovers  and  tailors  ! 
At  Brieg,  in  garrison,  long  they  lay  ; 
What  should  they  know  about  camps,  I  pray.' 


26  WALLENSTEIN  8  CAMl'.  [SC  ^t. 

Scene  XI 
Tlie  above. — Cuirassiets. 

FIRST    CUIRASSIEK. 

peace  !  what's  amiss  with  the  boor,  may  I  crave? 

FIRST   SHARPSHOOTER. 

He  has  cheated  at  play,  the  cozening  knave ! 

FIRST    CDIRASSIER. 

But  say,  has  he  cheated  rjou,  man,  of  aught  ? 

FIRST   SHARPSHOOTER. 

Just  clean'd  me  out— and  not  left  me  a  groat 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

And  can  you,  who've  the  rank  of  a  Friedland  man, 

So  shamefully  cast  yourself  away, 

As  to  try  your  luck  with  a  boor  at  play  ? 

Let  him  run  off,  so  that  ran  he  can 

[The  Peasant  escapes,  the  others  throng  together. 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

He  makes  short  work — is  of  resolute  mood— 
And  that  with  such  fellows  as  these  is  good. 
Who  is  he  ?— not  of  Bohemia,  that's  clear. 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

He's  a  Walloon— and  respect,  I  trow, 
Is  due  to  the  Pappcnheim  cuirassier ! 
FIRST  DRAGOON  [joining). 
Younf  Piccoloraini  leads  them  now, 
Whom  they  chose  as  Colonel,  of  their  own  free  might, 
When  Pappenheim  fell  in  Lutzen's  fi~ht. 

FIRST   ARQUEHUSIER. 

Durst  they,  indeed,  presume  so  far? 

FIRST   DRAGOON. 

This  regiment  is  something  above  the  rest.  ■■<- 

It  has  e°  er  been  foremost  throughout  the  war. 
And  may  manage  its  laws,  as  it  pleases  best  • 
Besides,  'tis  by  Friedland  himself  carest. 

FIRST  CUIRASSIER  [to  the  Second) 
Is't  so  in  truth,  man?     Who  averr'd  it? 

SECOND    CUIRASSIER. 

From  the  lips  of  the  Colonel  himself  I  heard 


j^c.  xi.J  waij.enstein's  camp.  -' 

FIRST   CUIRASSIER. 

The  devil !  we  re  not  their  dogs,  I  ween  ! 

FIRST   YAGER. 

How  now,  what's  wrong  ?     You're  swoln  with  spleen . 

SECOND    YAGER. 

Ts  it  anything,  comrades,  may  us  concern  ? 

FIRST    CUIKASSIEK. 

Tis  what  none  need  be  wondrous  glad  to  learn. 

The  Soldiers  press  round  aim. 
To  the  Netherlands  they  would  leud  us  now— 
Cuirassiers,  Yagers,  and  Shooters  away. 
Eight  thousand,  in  all,  must  march,  they  say. 

SUTLER- WOMAN. 

What !  what !  again  the  old  wandering  way — 
I  got  back  from  Flanders  but  yesterday  ! 

SECOND  CUIRASSIER  {to  the  Drogoons). 
You  of  Buttler  s  corps  must  tramp  with  the  rest 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

And  we,  the  Walloons,  must  doubtless  be  gone. 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Why  of  all  om-  squadrons  these  are  the  best. 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

To  march  where  that  Milanese  fellow  leads  on. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

The  Infant !  that's  queer  enough  in  its  way. 

SECOND    YAGER. 

The  Priest— then,  egad  !  there's  the  devil  to  pay 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

Shall  we  then  leave  the  Friedlanders  train, 
Who  so  nobly  his  soldiers  doth  entertain — 
And  drag  to  the  field  with  this  fellow  from  Spain  V 
A  nifTtrard  whom  we  in  our  souls  disdain ! 
That'll  never  go  down — I'm  off,  I  swear. 

TRUMPETER. 

Why,  what  the  devil  should  we  do  there  ? 
We  sold  our  blood  to  th'  Emperor^ne'er 
For  this  Spanish  red  liat  a  drop  well  spare! 


28  WALLENSTEIN'S   CAMP.  fsC.  Xli 

SECOND    VAGKR. 

On  the  Friedlander's  word  and  credit  alono 
We  ranged  ourselves  in  the  trooper  line, 
And,  but  for  our  love  to  Wallensteiu, 
Ferdinand  ne'er  had  our  service  kno\vn. 

FIRST    DRAGOON. 

Was  it  not  Friedland  that  formed  our  force  ? 
His  fortune  shall  still  be  the  star  of  our  courso 

SERG  EAKT. 

Silence,  good  comrades,  to  me  give  ear — 
Talking  does  little  to  help  us  here. 
Much  farther  in  this  I  can  see  than  you  all, 
A  nd  a  trap  has  been  laid  ni  which  we're  to  fall 

FIRST   YAGER. 

List  to  the  order-boolc !  hush — be  still ! 

SERGEANT. 

But  first,  cousin  Gustel,  I  pray  thee  fill 

A  glass  of  IMelneck.  as  my  stomach's  but  weak; 

When  I've  tost  it  off,  my  mind  I'll  speak. 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Take  it,  good  Sergeant.     I  quake  for  fear — 
Think  you  that  mischief  is  hidden  here  ? 

SKRGEANT. 

Look  ye,  my  friends,  'tis  fit  and  clear 
That  each  should  consider  what's  most  near. 
But  as  the  General  says,  say  I, 
One  should  always  the  whole  of  a  case  descry. 
We  call  ourselves  all  the  Friedlander's  troops ; 
The  Burgher,  on  whom  we're  biUeted,  stoops 
Our  wants  to  supply,  and  cooks  our  soups. 
His  ox,  or  his  horse,  the  Peasant  must  chain 
To  our  baggage  car.  and  may  grumble  in  vain. 
Just  let  a  lancc-corp'ral  with  seven  good  men. 
Tow'rd  a  village  from  far  but  come  within  ken, 
Yourf!  sure  hell  be  prince  of  the  place,  and  may 
Cut  what  capers  he  will,  with  unquestion'd  sway. 
Why,  zounds !  lads,  they  heartily  hate  us  all— 
And  would  rather  the  devil  should  give  them  a  cail. 
Than  our  yellow  collars     And  why  don't  they  fall 


BC. 


Xi.J  WALLEKSTEINS   CAMP.  29 

On  US  fairly  at  once,  and  get  rid  of  our  lumber? 
They're  more  than  our  match  in  pomt  of  number, 
And  carry  the  cudgel  as  Ave  do  the  sword. 
Why  can  we  laugh  them  to  scorn  ?     By  my  word, 
Because  we  make  up  here  a  terrible  horde. 

FIRST    YAGER. 

Ay,  ay,  in  the  mass  lies  the  spell  of  our  might. 
And  the  Friedlauder  judged  the  matter  anght. 
When,  some  eight  or  nine  years  ago,  he  brought 
The  Emperor's  army  together.     They  thought    _ 
Twelve  thousand  enough  for  the  Gen'ral.  _  in  vam— 
Said  he— such  a  force  I  can  never  mamtam. 
Sixty  thousand  I'll  bring  ye  into  the  plain, 
And  they,  I'll  be  sworn,  wont  of  hunger  die. 
And  thus  were  we  Wallenstein's  men,  say  1 

SERGEAKT 

For  example— cut  one  of  my  fingers  off— 
This  little  one,  here,  from  my  right  hand  dofl^ 
Is  the  taldng  my  finger,  then,  all  you've  done  ? 
No,  no,  to  the  devil  my  hand  is  gone ! 
'Tis  a  stump— no  more—  and  use  has  none.      ^ 
The  eisht  thousand  horse  they  wisn  to  disbana. 
May  be  but  a  finger  of  our  army's  hand. 
But,  when  thej're  once  gone— may  we  miderstand 
We 'are  but  one-fifth  the  less  ?     Oh,  no— 
By  the  Lord,  the  whole  to  the  devil  ^ylll  go ! 
All  terror,  respect,  and  awe,  will  be  o'er. 
And  the  Peasant  will  swell  his  crest  once  more ; 
And  the  Board  of  Vienna  will  order  us  where 
Our  troops  must  be  quartered,  and  how  we  must  tare, 
As  of  old,  in  the  days  of  their  beggarly  care. 
Yes— and  how  long  it  will  be  who  can  say 
Ere  the  General  himself  they  may  take  away? 
For  they  don't  much  like  him  at  court,  I  leant , 
And  then  it's  all  up  with  the  whole  concern! 
For  who,  to  our  pay,  will  be  left  to  aid  us  ? 
And  see  that  they  keep  the  promise  they  made  us. 
Who  has  the  energy — who  the  mind— 
The  flashing  thought— and  the  fearless  hand- 
Together  to  bring,  and  thus  fastly  bind 
The  fragments  that  form  our  close-knit  band 


J^0  wallenstein'b  oamt  [so.  XI. 

For  example,  Dragoon— just  answer  us  now, 
From  which  of  the  countries  of  earth  art  thou  ? 

DRAGOON. 

From  distant  Erin  came  I  here. 

SERGEANT  {to  the  two  Cuirassiers^ 
You're  a  Walloon,  my  friend,  that's  clear ' 
And  you,  an  Italian,  as  all  may  hear 

FIRST   CUIRASSIER. 

Who  I  may  be,  faith !  I  never  could  say  • 
In  my  infant  years  they  stole  me  away. 

SERGEANT. 

And  you,  from  what  far  land  may  you  be . 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

I  come  from  Buchau — on  the  Feder  Sea. 

SERGEANT. 

Neighbour,  and  you? 

SECOND    ARQUEBUSIER. 

I  am  a  Swiss. 
SERGEANT  (to  the  Secoiid  Yager)  _ 
And  Yager,  let's  hear  where  your  country  is? 

SECOND    YAGER. 

Up  above  Wismar,  my  fathers  dwell 

SERGEANT  {jwintuifi  to  the  Trumpeter^ 
And  he's  from  Eger— and  I  as  well : 
And,  now,  my  comrades,  I  ask  you  whether. 
Would  any  one  think,  when  looking  at  us. 
That  we,  from  the  North  and  South,  had  thus- 
Been  hitherward  drifted  and  blown  together? 
Do  we  not  seem  as  hewi  from  one  mass  ? 
Stand  we  not  close  against  the  foe 
As  tho'  we  were  glued,  or  moulded  so? 
Like  mill-work  don't  we  move,  d'ye  tlunk  .  _ 
'Mong  ourselves  in  the  nick,  at  a  word  or  wmk 
Who  has  thus  cast  us,  here,  all  as  one. 
Now  to  be  sever'd  again  by  none  ? 
Who  ?  why,  no  other  than  Wallenstein : 

FIRST   YAGER. 

In  my  life  it  ne'er  was  a  thought  of  mine, 
Whether  we  suited  each  other  or  not, 
I  let  mvsclf  go  with  the  rest  of  the  lot. 


sc.  XI.]  wallenstein's  camt.  31 

FIRST   CUIKASSIEK. 

I  quite  agree  in  the  Sergeant's  opinion — ^ 
They'd  fain  have  an  end  of  our  camp  dominion. 
And  trample  the  soklier  down,  that  they 
May  govern  alone  ui  their  ovw  good  way. 
'Tis  a  conspiration — a  plot,  I  say ! 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

A  conspiration — God  help  the  day ! 

Then  my  customers  won't  have  cash  to  pay. 

SERGEA^■T. 

Wliy,  faith,  we  shall  all  he  bankrupts  made : 
The"^  captams  and  generals,  most  of  them,  paid 
The  costs  of  the  regiments  with  private  cash, 
And,  wishing,  "hove  all,  to  cut  a  dash, 
Went  a  little  beyond  their  means — but  thought. 
No  doubt,  that  they  thus  had  a  bargain  bought. 
Now  they'll  be  cheated,  su's,  one  and  all. 
Should  our  chief,  our  head,  the  General  fall 

SUTLER-WOMAN 

Oh,  Heav'n !  this  ciu'se  I  never  can  brook  1 
Why,  half  of  the  army  stands  in  my  hook. 
Two  hundred  dollars  I've  trusted  madly, 
That  Comit  Isolani,  who  pays  so  badly. 

FIRST   CUIRASSIER. 

Well,  comrades,  let's  fix  on  what's  to  be  doue— 
Of  the  ways  to  save  us,  I  see  but  one  ; 
If  we  hold  together  we  needn't  fear; 
So  let  us  stand  out  as  one  man  here ; 
And  then  they  may  order  and  send  as  they  mil 
Fast  planted  we'll  stick  in  Bohemia  still. 
We'll  never  give  in — no,  nor  march  an  inch, 
We  stand  on  our  honour,  and  must  not  flinch. 

SECOND    YAGER. 

"We're  not  to  be  driven  the  country  about, 
Let  'em  come  here,  and  they'll  find  it  out 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

Good  sirs,  'twere  well  to  bethink  ye  still. 
That  such  is  the  Emperor's  sovereign  will. 

TRUMPETER. 

Oh,  as  to  the  Emperor,  we  needn't  he  nice^ 


32 


WALLENSTEIU'S   CAMP.  [SC  XI. 

FIRST   AIlQUEnUSIEB. 

Let  me  not  hear  \ou  say  so  tmce 

TRUMPETKR. 

Why  'tis  even  so — as  1  just  have  said 

FIRST    YAGKR. 

True,  man — I've  always  heard  'cm  say, 
'Tis  Friedland,  alone,  you've  licro  to  obey 

SERGEANT. 

Bv  our  bargain  with  him  it  should  be  so, 
Absolute  power  is  his,  you  must  know. 
We've  war,  or  peace^  but  as  he  may  please, 
Or  trold  or  goods  he  has  power  to  seize. 
And  hanging  or  pardon  his  \vill  decrees. 
Captains  and  colonels  he  makes — and  he, 
In  short,  by  th'  Imperial  seal  is  free. 
To  hold  all  tlie  marks  of  sovereignty 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

The  Duke  is  high  and  of  mighty  will, 
But  yet  must  remain,  for  good  or  for  ill,  _ 
Like' us  all,  but  the  Emperor's  servant  still. 

SERGEANT 

Not  like  us  all— I  there  disagree— 

Friedland  is  quite  independent  and  free, 

The  Bavarian  is  no  more  a  Prince  than  he ; 

For,  was  I  not  by  myself  to  see, 

When  on  duty  at  Brandeis,  how  th'  Emperor  said, 

He  wished  him  to  cover  his  princely  head 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

That  was  because  of  the  I\Iecklenburgh  land. 
Which  he  held  in  pawn  from  the  Emperor's  hai  d. 

FIRST  YAGER  {to  the  Sergeant). 
In  the  Emperor's  presence,  man!  say  you  so? 
That,  beyond  doubt,  was  a  wonderful  go! 

SERGEANT  [fcch  in  his  pocket). 
If  you  question  my  word  in  what  I  have  told, 
I  can  give  you  something  to  grasp  and  hold. 

[Showiny  q  coin 
Whose  imago  and  stamp  d'ye  here  beliold? 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Oh  I  that  is  a  Wall  i»'«,  sure'. 


gC.  XI.]  W'ALLENSTEIN  S    CAMP. 

SERGEANT-MAJOR. 

Well,  there,  you  have  it — what  doubt  can  rest  ? 

Is  he  not  Prince  just  as  good  as  the  best? 

Coins  he  not  nioney  like  Ferdinand  ? 

Hath  he  not  his  own  subjects  and  land  ? 

Is  he  not  called  your  Highness,  I  pray  ? 

A.nd  why  should  he  not  have  his  soldiers  in  pay  ? 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

That  no  one  has  ever  meant  to  gainsay; 

But  wo're  still  at  the  Emperor's  beck  and  call, 

For  his  Majesty  'tis  who  pays  us  all. 

TRUMPETER. 

In  your  teeth  I  deny  it— and  will  again — 
His  Majesty  'tis  who  pays  us  not. 
For  this  forty  weeks,  say,  what  have  we  got 
But  a  promise  to  pay,  believed  in  vain  ? 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

What  then !  'tis  kept  in  safe  hands,  I  suppose 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

Peace,  good  sirs,  will  you  come  to  blows? 
Have  you  a  quarrel  and  squabble  to  know 
If  the  Emperor  be  our  master  or  no  ? 
'Tis  because  of  our  rank,  as  his  soldiers  bravo, 
That  we  scorn  the  lot  of  the  herded  slave  ; 
And  will  not  be  driven  from  place  to  place, 
As  priests  or  puppies  our  patii  may  trace. 
And,  tell  me,  is"t  not  the  Sovereign's  gain, 
If  the  soldiers  their  dignity  well  maintain  ? 
Who  but  his  soldiers  give  him  the  state 
Of  a  mighty,  wide-ruling  potentate  ? 
Make  and  preserve  for  him,  far  and  near. 
The  voice  which  Christendom  quakes  to  hear? 
Well  enough  theij  may  his  yoke-chain  bear, 
Who  feast  on  his  favours,  and  daily  share, 
In  golden  chambers,  his  sumptuous  fare. 
We— we  of  his  splendours  have  no  part. 
Nought  but  hard  wearying  toil  and  care. 
And  the  pride  that  lives  in  a  soldier's  heart. 

SECOND    YAGER. 

All  great  tyrants  and  kings  have  shown 
Their  wit,  as  I  take  it,  in  what  they've  done  ; 

D 


34  wallexstein's  camp  [sc.  xi. 

They've  trampled  all  others  with  stern  commaud, 
But  the  soldier  they've  led  with  a  gentle  hand 

FIRST     CUIRASSIER. 

The  soldier  his  worth  must  understand ; 
Whoe'er  doesn't  nobly  drive  tho  trade, 
'Twere  best  from  the  business  far  he'd  staid. 
If  I  cheerily  set  my  life  on  a  throw, 
Something  still  better  than  life  I'll  know  ; 
O  I'll  stand  to  be  slain  for  the  paltry  pelf, 
As  the  Croat  still  does— and  scorn  myself. 

BOTH   YAGERS. 

Yes — honour  is  dearer  than  life  itself. 

FIRST   CUIRASSIER. 

The  sword  is  no  plough  nor  delving  tool, 

He,  who  would  till  with  it,  is  but  a  fool. 

For  us,  neither  grass  nor  grain  doth  grow, 

Houseless  the  soldier  is  doomed  to  go, 

A  changeful  wanderer  over  the  earth, 

Ne'er  knowing  the  warmth  of  a  home-lit  hearth. 

The  city  glances— he  halts — not  there — 

Nor  in  "village  meadows,  so  green  and  fair ; 

The  vintage  and  haiTCst  wreath  are  twined 

He  sees,  but  must  leave  them  far  behind. 

Then,  tell  me,  what  hath  the  soldier  left, 

If  he's  once  of  his  self-esteem  bereft? 

Something  he  must,  have  his  own  to  call, 

Or  on  slaughter  and  buniings  at  once  he'll  fail 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

God  knows,  'tis  a  wretched  life  to  live ! 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

Yet  one  which  I  for  no  other  would  give 
Look  ye — far  round  in  the  world  I've  beeu. 
And  all  of  its  diiTerent  service  seen. 
The  Venetian  Republic — the  Kings  of  Spain 
And  Naples  I've  served,  and  served  in  vain. 
Fortune  still  frowned — and  merchant  and  knight 
Craftsman  and  Jesuit,  have  met  my  sight ; 
Yet,  of  all  their  jackets,  not  one  have  I  known 
To  please  me  like  this  steel  coat  of  my  own. 


gC.  XI.]  WALLENSTEIN'S    CAMP, 

FIRST    ARQUEBUSIER. 

Well — tliat  now  is  what  I  can  scarcely  say 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

In  the  world,  a  man  who  would  make  his  way. 
Must  plague  and  bestir  himself  night  and  day. 
To  honour  and  place,  if  he  choose  the  road, 
He  must  bend  his  back  to  the  golden  load. 
And  if  home-delights  should  his  fancy  please, 
With  children  and  grandchildren  round  his  knees, 
Let  him  follow  an  honest  trade  in  peace. 
I've  no  taste  for  this  kind  of  life — not  1 1 
Free  will  I  live,  and  as  freely  die. 
No  man's  spoiler  nor  heir  will  I  be — 
But,  throned  on  my  nag,  I  will  smile  to  see 
The  coil  of  the  crowd  that  is  under  me. 

FIRST    YAGER. 

Bravo! — that's  as  I've  always  done. 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

In  truth,  sirs,  it  may  be  far  better  fun 

To  trample  thus  over  your  neighbour's  crown 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

Comrade,  the  times  are  bad  of  late — 
The  sword  and  the  scales  live  separate. 
But  do  not  then  blame  that  I've  preferr'd, 
Of  the  two,  to  lean,  as  I  have,  to  the  sword. 
For  mercy  in  war  I  will  yield  to  none, 
Tho'  I  never  will  stoop  to  be  drumm'd  upon 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

Who  but  the  soldier  the  blame  should  bear 
That  the  labouring  poor  so  hardly  fare  ? 
The  war  with  its  plagues,  which  all  have  blasted, 
Now  sixteen  years  in  the  land  hath  lasted. 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

Why,  brother,  the  blessed  God  above 

Can't  have  from  us  all  an  equal  love. 

One  prays  for  the  sun,  at  which  t'other  will  fret: 

One  is  for  dry  weather — t'other  for  wet. 

What  you,  now,  regard  as  with  misery  rife, 

la  to  me  the  unclouded  sun  of  life. 

d2 


35 


36  watxenstein's  camp  [so.  xi. 

If  'tis  at  the  cost  of  the  burgher  and  boor, 
I  really  am  sorry  that  they  must  endure  ; 
But  how  can  I  help  it?     Here,  you  must  know. 
Tis  just  like  a  cavalry  charge  'gainst  the  foe : 
The  steeds  loud  snorting,  and  on  they  go ! 
Whoever  may  lie  in  the  mid  career — 
Be  it  my  brother  or  son  so  dear, 
Should  his  dying  groan  my  heart  divide, 
Yet  over  his  "body  I  needs  must  ride, 
^or  pitying  stop  to  drag  him  aside. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

True — who  ever  asks  how  another  may  bide? 

FIRST   CUIRASSIER. 

Thus,  my  lads,  'tis  my  counsel,  while 

On  the  soldier  dame  Fortune  deigns  to  smile, 

That  we  \nth  both  hands  lier  bounty  clasp. 

For  it  mayn't  be  much  longer  left  to  our  grasp. 

Peace  will  be  coming  some  over  night, 

And  then  there's  an  end  of  our  martial  might. 

The  soldier  unhorsed,  and  fresh-mounted  the  boor. 

Ere  you  can  think  it.  'twill  be  as  before. 

As  yet  we're  together  firm  bound  in  the  land, 

The  hilt  is  yet  fast  in  the  soldier's  hand. 

But  let  'em*  divide  us,  and  soon  we  shall  find 

Short  commons  is  all  that  remains  behind. 

FIRST   YAGER. 

No,  nc,  by  the  Lord !  that  won't  do  for  me. 
Come,  come,  lads,  let's  all  now,  as  one,  agree. 

SECOND    YAGER. 

Yes,  let  us  resolve  on  what  'tis  to  be 

FIRST   ARQUEBUSIER. 

To  the  Snller-icovian,  drawing  out  his  leather  purse.) 
Hostess,  tell  us  how  high  you've  scored. 

SUTLER-WOMAN 

Oh,  'tis  unworthy  a  single  word.  [They  settU 

TRUMPETER. 

You  do  well,  sirs,  to  take  a  farther  walk. 
Your  company  only  disturbs  our  talk. 

[Exeimt  Arquehuiier*. 


gc.  XI.]  wAllenstein's  CAMI'. 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER 

Plague  take  the  felloes— they're  brave,  I  know. 

FIRST    YAGER. 

They  hav'n't  a  soul  'bove  a  soapboiler's  thoagh. 

SECOND    YAGER. 

We're  now  alone,  so  teach  us  vrho  can 
How  best  we  may  meet  and  mar  their  plan. 

TRtlM  PETER. 

How  ?  Why,  let's  tell  "em  we  will  not  go  ! 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

Despising  all  discipline  !  no,  my  lads,  no 
Rather  his  corps  let  each  of  us  seek, 
And  quietly  then  ^ith  his  comrades  speak, 
That  even'  soldier  may  clearly  know. 
It  were  not  for  his  good  so  far  to  go ; 
For  my  Walloons  to  answer  I'm  free. 
Every  man  of  'em  thinks  and  acts  with  me. 

SERGEANT. 

The  Terzky  regiments,  both  horse  and  foot. 
Will  thus  resolve,  and  will  keep  them  to't. 

SECOND  CUIRASSIER  {joining  the  first) 
The  Walloons  and  the  Lombards,  one  intent 

FIRST    YAGER 

Freedom  is  Yagers'  own  element. 

SECOND    YAGER. 

Freedom  must  ever  with  might  entwine— 
I  live  and  will  die  by  Wallenstem. 

FIRST   SHARPSHOOTER. 

The  Lorrainers  go  on  with  the  strongest  tido^ 
Where  spirits  are  light  and  courage  tried. 

DRAGOON 

An  Irishman  follows  his  fortune  s  star, 

SECOND    SHARPSHOOTER. 

The  Tyrolese  for  their  sovereign  war. 

FIRST    CUIRASSIER. 

Then,  comrades,  let  each  of  our  corps  agrcd 
A  pro  memorid  to  sign — that  we, 
la  spite  of  all  force  or  fraud,  \\ill  be 


3S  wallenstein's  camp  [sc.  xi 

To  the  fortunes  of  Friodland  iirmly  bound. 
For  in  him  is  the  soldier's  father  found. 
This  we  will  humbly  present,  when  done, 
To  Piccolomiui — I  mean  the  son — 
Who  understands  these  kind  of  affairs, 
And  the  Friedlander's  highest  favour  shares ' 
Besides,  with  the  Emperor's  self,  tliey  say 
He  holds  a  capital  card  to  play. 

SECOND    YAGER. 

Well,  then,  in  this,  let  us  all  agi'ee. 
That  the  Colonel  shall  our  spokesman  bo  ! 

ALL  (fjoing). 
Good  !  the  Colonel  shall  our  spokesman  bo 

SERGEANT 

Hold,  sirs — ^,iust  toss  off  a  glass  with  me 
To  the  health  of  Piccolomini. 

SUTLER-WOMAN  [hriufjs  a  flask). 
This  shall  not  go  to  the  list  of  scores, 
I  gladly  give  it — success  be  yours  ! 

CUIRASSIER 

The  soldier  shall  sway  ! 

BOTH    YAGERS 

The  peasant  shall  pay ! 

DRAGOONS    an^   SIIAUPSIIOOTERG 

The  army  shall  nourishing  stand  ! 

TRUMPETER  and    SERGEANT. 

And  the  Friedlander  keep  the  command ! 

SECOND    CUIRASSIER   [sings). 

Arouse  ye,  my  comrades,  to  horse  !  to  hoi-sc  ! 

To  the  field  and  to  freedom  wc  guide  I 
For  there  a  man  feels  the  pride  of  his  force, 

And  there  is  the  heart  of  him  tried. 
No  help  to  him  there  by  another  is  shown, 
He  stands  for  himself  and  himself  alone. 

[T/ie  Soldiers  from  the  back  ground  have  comefoncari 

during  the  siiujing  of  this  verse,  and  form  lite  chorus 
Chorus. 
No  help  to  him  there  by  another  is  shown, 
He  stands  for  himself  and  himself  alono. 


gc.  SI.]  wallensteik's  cam?  39 

DRAGOON. 

Now  fre.-jdom  liatli  fled  from  the  world,  we  find 

Bm  lords  and  tlieir  bondsmen  vile  : 
And  nothing  holds  sway  in  the  breast  of  mankind 

Save  falsehood  and  cowardly  guile. 
Who  looks  in  deaths  face  with  a  fearless  brow 
The  soldier,  alone,  is  the  freeman  now 

Chorus. 
Who  looks  in  death's  face  with  a  fearless  brow, 
The  soldier,  alone,  is  the  freeman  now. 

FlKST   YAGER. 

With  the  troubles  of  life  he  ne"er  bothers  his  pate, 

And  feels  neither  fear  nor  sorroAv  ; 
Bat  boldly  lides  onward  to  meet  with  his  fate — 

He  may  meet  it  to-day,  or  to-mon-ow ! 
And,  if  to-morrow  'twill  come,  then,  I  say, 
Dram  we  the  cup  of  life's  joy  to-day  ! 

Chorus. 
And,  if  to-morrow  'tAsill  come,  then,  I  say, 
Drain  we  the  cup  of  life's  joy  to-day ! 

[The  glasses  are  here  refilled,  and  all  dnnl:. 

SERGEANT. 

Tis  from  heaven  his  jovial  lot  has  birth ; 

Nor  needs  he  to  strive  or  toil. 
The  peasant  may  grope  in  the  bowels  of  eaith, 

And  for  treasure  may  greedily  moil : 
He  digs  and  he  delves  through  life  for  the  pelf, 
And  digs  till  he  grubs  out  a  grave  for  himself. 

Chorus. 
He  digs  and  he  delves  through  life  for  the  pelf, 
And  digs  till  he  gmbs  out  a  grave  for  himsell 

FIRST   TAGER. 

The  rider  and  lightning  steed— a  pair 

Of  terrible  guests.  I  ween  ! 
From  the  bridal-hall  as  the  torches  glare, 

Unbidden  they  join  the  scene  : 
Nor  gold,  nor  wooing,  his  passion  prove  ; 
By  storm  he  carries  the  prize  of  love  . 

Chorus. 
Nor  gold,  nor  wooing,  his  passion  provo ; 
By  storm  he  carries  the  prize  of  love  I 


40  WALLEN8TEIN  8   OAMP.  [SC.  Xl. 

SECOND   ODIRASSIEB. 

Why  mourns  the  wench  with  so  sorrowful  face  ? 

Away,  pirl,  the  soldier  must  go ! 
No  spot  on  the  earth  is  his  resting-place ; 

And  your  tnie  love  he  never  can  know. 
Still  onward  driven  by  fate's  rude  wind, 
He  nowhere  may  leave  his  peace  behind. 

Chonis. 
Still  onward  driven  by  fate's  rude  Avind, 
He  nowhere  may  leave  his  peace  behind. 

FIRST   TAGER 

He  takes  the  two  next  to  him  by  the  hand — the  others  do  tJie 

same — arid  form  a  large  semicircle. 

Then  rouse  ye,  my  comrades — to  horse  !  to  horse  ! 

In  battle  the  breast  doth  swell ! 
Youth  boils — the  life  cup  foams  in  its  force — 

Up  !  ere  time  can  the  dew  dispel ! 
And  deep  be  the  stake,  as  the  prize  is  high — 
Who  life  would  win,  he  must  dare  to  die ! 

Chorus. 
And  deep  be  the  stake,  as  the  prize  is  high- 
Who  life  would  win,  he  must  dare  to  die  ! 

[The  Cui  tain  falls  before  the  Chorus  Juts  finished. 


THE    PICCOLOMINI. 

PREFACE. 

The  two  Dramas.-PiccoLOMiNi,  or  the  first  part  of  WiJ. 
rEKs-mt-  and  the  Dkath  of  Wai^lenstein,  are  introduced 
in  trongmal  manuscript  by  a  Prel  uie  in  one  Act,  entitled 
wLkJeins  Cahp  This  is  written  -  [^/-^'/^f J^^^ 
nine-svllable  verse,  in  --he  same  Licimg  metre  (it  that  expres- 
In  Say  be  permitted)  with  the  second  Eclogue  of  Spenser  s 

'"Str^l"  sesses  a  sort  of  broad  humour,,  arid  is  not 
defident^n  character:  but  to  have  translated  it  ^^to  Prose 
or  into  any  other  metre  than  that  of  the  original,  wou  d  have 
given  a  false  idea  both  of  its  style  and  purport,  to  have 
translated  it  into  the  same  metre  would  have  been  meom 
patible  with  a  faithful  adherence  to  the  sense  of  the  Germaii 
C  the  comparative  poverty  of  our  language  m  rhymes 
and  it  would  have  been  unadvisable,  from  the  incongi-mty  of 
hos    lax  verses  with  the  present  taste  of  the  Enghsh  pubhc^ 
Schiller's   intention   seems   to   have   been    merely    to   ha^e 
premi^d  h^    reader  for  the  Tragedies  by  a  lively  pic  ure  of 
Ldty  of  discipline,  and  the  mutinous  disp.>sitions  of  Wal- 
Sin's   soldiery.     It  is   not  necessary  as   a  preliminary 
explanation.   For  these  reasons  it  has  been  thought  expedient 

""hVX^Ss '  f  Schiller,  who  have  absti-acjed  their  idea 
of  that  author  from  the  Robbers,  and  the  Caba  and  Lo_^  . 
plays  in  which  the  main  interest  is  produced  by  the  exci  e 
St  of  curiosity,  and  in  which  the  -J^-f  ,;y/"^^f  J> 
terrible  and  extraordinary  incident,  will  not  luue  perused 
^iout  some  portion  of  disappointment  ^  -  D-mas^  ^vh^l 
:t  has  been  my  employment  to  translate.  Ihey  should,  ho%N- 
cve^  reflect  that  these  are  Historical  Dramas,  fen  f..m 
I  popular  German  History-,  that  we  must,  therefore,  judge 
of^them  m  some  measure  with  the  feelmgs  ot  Germans;  or 
by  anaJogy,  with  the  hiterest  excited  hi  us  by  similar  Dmmas 
in  nnr  owA  kn^tua^o.  Fow,  I  trust,  would  be  rash  or  ignor- 
L  enouTh  Kmpare  Schiller  with  Shakspeare  ;  yet 
mere^as^  illustration.  I  would  say,  that  we  should  proceed 


42  rBEFACfi. 

to  the  perusal  of  Wallenstcin.  not  from  Lcftr  or  Otliello,  but 
from  Richard  the  Second,  or  the  three  parts  of  Henry  the 
Sixth.     We  scarcely  expect  rapidity  in  an  Historical  Drama, 
and   many  prolix   speeches   are   pardoned   from   characters, 
whose  names  and  acnons  have  formed  the  most  amusing  tales 
of  our  early  life.     On  the  other  hand,  there  exist  in  these 
plays  more' individual  beauties,  more  passages  whose  excel- 
lence will  bear  reflection,  than  in  the  former  productions  of 
Schiller.     The   description  of   the  Astrological  Tower,  and 
tlie  reflections  of  the  Young  Lover,  which  follow  it,  form  m 
the  original  a  fine  poem  ;  and  my  translation  must  have  been 
wretched  indeed,  if  it  can  have  wholly  overclouded  the  beau- 
ties of  the  scene  in  the  first  act  of  the  first  play,  between 
Questenberg,  Max.  and  Octavio  Piccolomini.     If  we  except 
the  scene  of  the  setting  sun  in  the  Robbers,  I  know  of  no 
part  in  Schiller's  Plays  which  equals  the  first  scene  of  the 
fifth  act  of  the  concluding  play  * .    It  would  be  unbecoming  in 
me  to  be  more  diffuse  on  this  subject.     A  translator  stands 
connected  with  the  original  author  by  a  certain  law  of  sub 
ordination,  which  makes  it  more  decorous  to  point  out  excel 
'ences  than  defects  :  indeed  he  is  not  hkely  to  be  a  fair 
.iudge  of   either       The  pleasure   or   disgust  from   his  own 
labour  will  mingle  with  the  feelings  that  arise  from  an  after 
view  of  the  original      Even  in  the  first  perusal  of  a  work  in 
any  foreign   language  which  we   understand,  we  are  apt  to 
attribute  to  it  more  excellence  than  it  really  possesses,  from 
our   ONTO   pleasurable  sense  of   difficulty  overcome    witliout 
effort.     Translation  of  poetry  into  poetry  is  difficult,  because 
the  translator  must  give  a  brilliancy  to  his  language  without 
that  warmth  of  original  conception,  from  which  such  bril- 
liancy would  follow  of  its  own  accord.     But  the  translator  of 
a  living  author  is  encumbered  with  additional  inconveniences. 
If  he  °ender  his  original  faithfully,  as  to  the  sense  of  each 
passage,  ho  must,  necessarily,  destroy  a  considerable  portion 
of  the  spirit ;   if  he  endeavour  to  give  a  work  executed  ac- 
cording to   laws   of    compensation,   he  subjects   himself   to 
imputations  of  vanity,  or  misrepresentiition.     I  have  thougb*. 
it  my  duty  to  remain  bound  by  the  sense  of  my  original 
with  as  few  exceptions  as  the  nature  of  the  languages  ren- 
dered possible.  ^    *■'  ^' 
*  In  this  edition.  Scene  III.  Act  V. 


THE    PICCOLOMINI. 


DRAMATIS 

Wallenstein,  Dulce  of  Friedland, 

Generalissimo     of    the     Imperial 

Forces  in  ilie  Tliirty  Years'  War. 
OcTAvio    PiccoLOMiNi,     Lieuicnant- 

General. 
Max.  Piccolomini,  Ms  Son,  Coloiiel 

of  a  Regimerd  of  Cidrassiers. 
CouKT   Terzkt,  tli^  Commander    of 

several  Regiments,  and  Brotlicr-in- 

law  of  Wallenstein. 
Ilw,    Field-Marshal,    Wallenstein' s 

Confidant. 
IsoLANi,  General  of  the  Croats. 
BcTLER,  an  Irishman,  Commander  of 

a  Regiment  of  Dragoons, 

TiEFENBACn,  ~\ 

Don  JIaradas,     (    Generals   under 
GoEiz,  r        Wallenstein. 

KOLATTO,  3 

Neumann,  Captain  of  Cavalry,  Aide- 
de-Camp  to  To-zhy. 


PEKS0N5;. 

Von  Questenberg,  the  War 

sioner,  Imperial  Envoy. 
]3aptista  Seni,  an  Astrologer. 
DucuEss    OF    Friedland,    Wife  oj 

Wallenstein. 
Thekla,  her  Daughter,  Princess  oj 

Friedland. 
The  Countess  Terzky,  Sister  of  the 

Duchess. 
A  Cornet. 

Colonels  and  Generals  [several). 
Pages  and  Attendants  belonging  to 

Wallenstein. 
Attendants  and  Hoboists  belonging 

to  Terzky. 
Master   op  the  Cellar  to  Count 

Terzky. 
Valet  de  Chambre  of  Count  Picc& 

lomini. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I 

An  old  Gothic  Chamber  in  the  Council  House  at  Fihen, 

decorated  ivith  Colours  and  other  War  Insignia 

Illo  with  Butler  and  Isolani 

ILLO. 

Ye  have  come  too  late— but  ye  are  come  !     The  distar.cs 
Count  Isolani,  excuses  your  delay. 

ISOLANI. 

Add  this  too,  that  we  come  not  empty-handed 
At  Donauwerth  *  it  was  reported  to  us, 

•  A  town  about  twelve  German  miles  N.E.  of  Ulm. 


44  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  [ACT  1. 

A  Swedish  caravan  was  on  its  way, 
Transporting  a  rich  cargo  of  provision, 
Almost  six  hundred  waggons.     This  my  Croats 
Plunged  down  upon  and  seized,  this  weighty  prize  :— 
We  biing  it  hither 

ILIO. 

Just  in  time  to  banquet 
The  illustrious  company  assembled  here. 

BUTI.ER. 

Tis  all  alive  !  a  stirring  scene  liere  ! 

ISOLANl. 

Ay! 

The  very  churches  are  all  full  of  soldiers. 

[Casts  Jiis  eijc  round. 
And  in  the  Council-house  too,  I  observe. 
You're  settled,  quite  at  home  !     Well,  well  !  we  soldiers 
Must  shift  and  suit  us  in  what  way  we  can. 

I  LLC. 

We  have  the  colonels  here  of  thirty  regiments. 
You'll  find  Count  Terzky  here,  and  Tiefenbach, 
Kolatto,  Goetz,  Maradas,  Hinnersam, 

The  Piccolomini,  both  son  and  father 

You'll  meet  with  many  an  unexpected  greeting 
From  many  an  old  friend  and  acquaintance      Onlv 
Galas  is  wanting  still,  and  Altringer 

BUTLER. 

Expect  not  Galas 

ILLO  (hesitating). 

How  so  ?     Do  you  know 

ISOLANl  (interruptiufj  him). 
Max.  Piccolomini  here?— 0  bring  me  to  hira. 
I  see  him  yet,  ('tis  now  ten  years  ago, 
We  w.-re  engaged  witli  Mansfeldt  hard  by  Dessau. 
I  see  ilie  youth,  in  my  mind's  eye  I  see  him, 
Leap  his  black  war-horse  from  the  bridge  adown, 
And  t'ward  his  father,  then  in  extreme  peril. 
Beat  up  against  the  strong  tide  of  tlie  Elbe. 
The  down  was  scarce  upon  his  chin !     I  hesir 
He  has  made  good  the  promise  of  his  youth 
And  the  full  hero  now  is  linish'd  in  him. 


gQ   J  -I  THE  PICCOLOMISI.  *^ 

IIXO. 

You'll  see  him  yet  ere  evening.     He  conducts 
The  Duchess  Fnedland  hither,  and  the  Prmcess* 
From  Carathen  f.     We  expect  them  here  at  noon. 

BUTLER. 

Both  ^vife  and  daughter  does  the  Duke  call  hither? 
He  crowds  in  visitants  from  all  sides 

ISOLAKI. 

Hm! 

So  much  the  better  !  I  had  framed  my  mind 
To  hear  of  nought  but  warhke  circumstance. 
Of  marches,  and  attacks,  and  batteries  ; 
And  lo  :  the  Duke  provides,  and  something  too 
Of  gender  sort,  and'  lovely,  should  be  present 
To  feast  our  eyes. 
ILLO  (who  has  been  standlnr}  in  the  attitude  of  meditaliori,  to 
BUTLER,  ichom  he  leads  a  little  on  one  side). 
And  how  came  you  to  know 
That  the  Count  Galas  joins  us  not? 

BUTLER. 

Because 
He  importuned  m«  to  remain  behind- 

ILLO  [icith  vannth). 
And  vou?— You  hold  out  firmly  !  . 

[Grasping  his  hand  with  afection 
Noble  Builcr  I 

BUTLER. 

After  the  obligation  which  the  Duke 
Had  laid  so  newly  on  me 

ILLO. 

I  had  forgotten 
A  pleasant  duty— Major-General, 
1  wish  you  joy  ! 

ISOLANI. 

TVliat.  you  mean,  of  his  regiment  ? 
I  hear,  too.  that  to  make  the  gift  still  sweeter, 
The  Duke  has  given  him  the  very  same 

•  The  Diikps  in  Germany  being  always  reigning  powers  tbcii  sons  aud 
daughters  are  entitled  Princes  and  Princesses. 

♦  Carinthia. 


4G  THE    PICCOLOMINI  [aCT  I. 

[n  which  he  first  saw  service,  and  since  then, 

Work'd  himself,  step  by  step,  through  each  preferment, 

From  the  ranks  upwards.     And  verily,  it  gives 

A  precedent  of  hope,  a  spur  of  action 

To  the  whole  corps,  if  once  in  their  remembrance 

An  old  deserving  soldier  makes  his  way 

BUTLER. 

I  am  pei-plex'd  and  doubtful,  Avhethcr  or  no 

T  dai-e  accept  this  your  congratulation. 

The  Emperor  has  not  yet  confirm'd  the  appointmeut. 

ISOLANI. 

Seize  it,  friend  !  Seize  it !  The  hand  which  in  that  post 
Placed  you,  is  strong  enough  to  keep  you  there, 
Spite  of  the  Emperor  and  his  Ministers  ! 

ILLO. 

Ay,  if  we  would  but  so  consider  it ! — 

If  wo  would  all  of  us  consider  it  so  ! 

The  Emperor  gives  us  nothing  ;  from  the  Duke 

Comes  all — whatc'cr  we  hope,  whate'er  we  have 

ISOLANI  {to  ILLo). 

My  noble  brother  !  did  I  tell  you  how 
The  Duke  will  satisfy  my  creditors  ? 
Will  be  himself  my  banker  for  the  future, 
Make  me  once  more  a  creditable  man !  — 
And  this  is  now  the  third  time,  think  of  that ! 
Tills  kingly-minded  man  has  rescued  me 
From  absolute  ruin,  and  restored  my  honour 

ILLO. 

0  that  his  power  but  kept  pace  with  his  wishes  ! 
Why,  friend  !  he'd  give  the  whole  world  to  his  soldiere. 
But  at  Vienna,  brother ! — bore's  the  grievance. — 
What  politic  schemes  do  they  not  lay  to  shorten 

His  arm,  and  where  they  can,  to  clip  his  pinions. 
Then  these  new  dainty  requisitions  !  these, 
Which  this  same  Questenberg  brings  hither !  — 

BUTLER. 

Ay! 
These  requisitions  of  the  Emperor, — 

1  too  have  heard  about  them  ;  but  I  hope 
The  Duke  will  not  draw  back  a  single  inch! 


gC    ji  ]  THE   PICCOLOMIKI.  47 

ILLO. 

Not  from  his  right  most  surely,  unless  first 
.^From  office ! 

BUTLER  {shocked  and  confused). 
Know  you  aught  then  ?    You  alarm  me. 
isoLAXi   {at    the   same    time    with    butler,   atid   in    a 

hurrying  voice). 
We  should  be  ruin'd,  eveiy  one  of  us ! 

ILLO 

Xo  more  ! 
Yonder  I  see  our  icorthy  friend  *  approaching 
With  the  Lieutenant-General,  Piccolomini. 

BUTLER  {shaking  his  head  significantly) 
1  fear  we  shall  not  go  hence  as  we  came 

SCEKE  II. 
Enter  Octavio,  PiccoLOiUNi,  and  Questesbebo 
ocTAVio  {still  in  the  distance). 
Ay  I  ay  !  more  still  I  StUl  more  new  \-isitors ! 
\ckno'wledge,  friend !  that  never  was  a  camp, 
Which  held  at  once  so  many  heads  of  heroes 

[questexberg. 
Let  none  appioach  a  camp  of  Friedland's  troops 
\Mio  dares  to  think  unworthily  of  war ; 
E'en  I  mvself  had  nigh  forgot  its  evils 
When  I  surveyed  that  lofty  soul  of  order, 
By  which  wliiie  it  destroys  the  world,— itself 
^Maintains  the  greatness  which  itself  created.] 

OCTAVIO  [approaching  nearer). 
Welcome,  Count  Isolani ! 

ISOLA>!i. 

My  noble  brother ! 
Even  now  am  I  arnved  ;  it  had  been  else  my  duty — 

OCTAVIO. 

And  Colonel  Butler— trust  me,  I  rejoice 
Thus  to  renew  acquaintance  with  a  man 
Wliose  worth  and  services  I  know  and  honour 
See,  see,  my  friend  ! 

•  Spoken  -.nth  u  sr.eer. 


48 


THE    nCCOLOMINI  [^CT  I. 


There  might  we  place  at  once  before  our  eyes 
The  sum  of  wars  whole  trade  and  mystery— 

[To  QuESTENBERG,  presenting  Butleb 
and  IsoLANi  at  the  same  time  to  him. 
Those  two  the  total  sum— Strength  and  Dispatch. 

QUESTENBERG  {tO  OCTAVIo). 

And  lo  :  betwixt  them  both,  experienced  Prudence  ! 

OCTAVIO  (jn-esmting  questenberg  to  butler  and  isolant) 

The  ("chamberlain  and  War-Commissioner  Questenberg, 

The  bearer  of  the  Emperor  s  behests, 

The  long-tried  friend  and  patron  of  all  soldiers, 

We  honour  in  this  noble  visitor.  [Universal  silence 

ILLO  [moving  towards  questekberg). 
*Tis  not  the  first  time^  noble  ]\Iinister, 
You  have  shown  our  camp  this  honour. 
qdestekberg 

Once  before 
I  stood  beside  these  colours. 

ILLO. 

Perchance  too  you  remember  where  that  was 

It  was  at  Zniiim  *  in  Moravia,  where 

You  did  present  yourself  upon  the  part 

Of  the  Emperor,  to  supplicate  our  Duke 

That  he  would  straight  assume  the  chief  comraanoi 

questenberg. 
To  supplicate  ?  Nay,  bold  General ! 
So  far  extended  neither  my  commission 
(At  least  to  my  own  knowledge)  nor  my  zeal 

ILLO. 

Well,  well,  then— to  compel  him,  if  you  chooso 
I  can  remember  me  right  well,  Count  Tilly 
Had  suffer'd  rotal  rout  upon  the  Lech. 
Bavaria  lay  all  onen  to  the  enemy, 
Whom  there  was'  nothing  to  delay  from  pressing 
Onwards  into  the  very  heart  of  Austria 
At  that  time  you  and  Werdenberg  appear 'd 
Before  our  General,  storming  him  with  prayers, 
And  menacing  the  Emperor's  displeasure. 
Unless  he  took  compassion  on  this  wretchedness. 
»  A  town  not  *'ar  frcra  the  Mine-mountainB,  on  the  high  road  from  Vienna 
to  Prague. 


j5C.  II.]  THE    PICOOLOMINIi  49 

isoLAXi  (steps  up  to  them). 
Yes,  yes,  'tis  comprehensible  enough, 
Wlierefore  with  your  commission  of  to-day 
You  were  not  all  too  willing  to  remember 
Your  former  one. 

QUESTEXBERG. 

Why  not,  Corait  Isolar.i  ? 
No  contradiction  sure  exists  bet\^een  them. 
It  was  the  urgent  business  of  that  time 
To  snatch  Bavaria  from  her  enemy's  hand  ; 
And  my  commission  of  to-day  instructs  me 
To  free  her  from  her  good  friends  and  protectors 

ILLO. 

A  worthy  office  !     After  with  our  blood 

We  have  wrested  this  Bohemia  from  the  Saxot 

To  be  swept  out  of  it  is  all  our  thanks, 

The  sole  reward  of  all  our  hard-won  victories. 

QUESTENBERG. 

Unless  that  wretched  land  be  doomed  to  suffer 

Only  a  change  of  evils,  it  must  be 

Freed  from  the  scourge  alike  of  friend  or  foe. 

ILLO. 

What  ?     'Twas  a  favourable  year  ;  the  boors 
Can  answer  fresh  demands  already 

QUESTEXBERG. 

Nay, 
If  you  discourse  of  herds  and  meadow-grounds — 

ISOLANI. 

The  war  mamtains  the  war.     Are  the  boors_  ruiu'J? 
The  Emperor  gains  so  many  more  now  soldiers. 

QUESTENBERG. 

And  is  the  poorer  by  even  so  many  subjects 

ISOEANI. 

Pohl  we  are  all  his  subjects 

QUESTENBERO . 

Yet  with  a  difference,  General !  The  one  fill 

With  profitable  mdustry  the  purse, 

The  others  are  well  skill'd  to  empty  it. 

The  sword  has  made  the  Emperor  poor ;  the  plough 

Must  reinvigorate  his  resources. 


50  THE  PICCOLOMIITL  [aCT.  1. 

ISOLANI. 

Sure! 
Times  are  not  yet  so  bad.    Metliinks  I  see 

[Examining  ivith  his  eye  the  dress  and  oi'naments  oj 

QUESTENBERG. 

Good  store  of  gold  that  still  remains  uncoia'd. 

QUESTENBERG. 

Thank  Heaven !  that  means  have  been  found  out  to  hide 
Some  little  from  the  fingers  of  the  Croats. 

ILLO. 

There  !  The  Stawata  and  the  Martinitz, 

On  whom  the  Emperor  heaps  his  gifts  and  graces, 

To  the  heart-burning  of  all  good  Bohemians — 

Those  minions  of  court  favour,  those  court  harpies, 

Who  fatten  on  the  wrecks  of  citizens 

Driven  from  their  house  and  home — who  reap  no  harvests 

Save  in  the  general  calamity — 

Who  now,  with  kingly  pomp,  insult  and  mock 

The  desolation  of  their  country — these. 

Let  these,  and  such  as  these,  support  the  war, 

The  fatal  war,  which  they  alone  enkindled! 

BUTLER. 

And  those  state-parasites,  who  have  their  feet 

So  constantly  beneath  the  Emperor's  table. 

Who  cannot  let  a  benefice  fall,  but  they 

?^nap  at  it  with  dogs'  hunger — they,  forsooth, 

Would  pare  the  soldier's  bread  and  cross  his  reckoning  1 

ISOLANI. 

My  life  long  ^\ill  it  anger  me  to  think. 
How  when  I  went  to  court  seven  years  ago, 
To  see  about  new  horses  for  our  regiment. 
How  from  one  antechamber  to  another 
They  dragg'd  me  on,  and  left  me  by  the  hour 
To  kick  my  heels  among  a  crowd  of  simpering 
Feast-fatten'd  slaves,  as  if  I  had  come  thither 
A  mendicant  suitor  for  the  crumbs  of  favour 
That  fall  beneath  their  tables.     And,  at  last, 
Whom  should  they  send  me  but  a  capuchin ! 
Straight  I  began  to  muster  up  my  sins 
For  absolution — but  no  such  luck  for  me! 


SC.  n.]  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  51 

This  was  Vtb  man,  this  oapucliin,  vnth.  whom 
I  was  to  treat  concerning  the  army  horses  • 
And  I  was  forced  at  last  to  quit  the  field, 
The  business  unaccomplish'd.     Afterwards 
The  Duke  procured  me  in  three  days,  what  I 
Could  not  obtain  in  thirty  at  Vienna. 

QUESTENBERG. 

Yes,  yes  I  your  travelling  bills  soon  found  their  way  tc  US  ! 
Too  well  I  know  we  have  still  accounts  to  settle. 

ILLO 

War  is  a  violent  trade  :  one  cannot  always 

Finish  one's  work  by  soft  means  ;  every  trifle 

Must  not  be  blacken'd  into  sacrilege. 

If  we  should  wait  till  you,  in  solemn  covmcil, 

With  due  deliberation  bad  selected 

The  smallest  out  of  foiur-and-twenty  evils, 

I'  faith  we  should  wait  long — 

"  Dash !  and  through  with  it ! " — That's  the  better  watch  ■ 

word. 
Then  after  come  what  may  come.     'Tis  man's  nature 
To  make  the  best  of  a  bad  thing  once  past. 
A  bitter  and  perplex'd  "what  shall  I  do?  ' 
Is  worse  to  man  than  worst  necessity. 

QDESTENBERG 

Ay,  doubtless,  it  is  true  ;  the  Duke  does  spare  us 
The  troublesome  task  of  choosing. 

BUTLER. 

Yes,  the  Duko 
Cares  with  a  father's  feelings  for  his  troops ; 
But  how  the  Emperor  feels  for  us,  we  see 

QUESTENBERG. 

Bis  cares  and  feelings  all  ranks  share  alike, 
Nor  will  he  offer  one  up  to  another. 

ISOLANI. 

And  therefore  thrusts  he  us  into  the  deserts 
As  beasts  of  prey,  that  so  he  may  preserve 
His  dear  sheep  fattening  in  his  fields  at  home 

QUESTEKBERG  {vdth  a  sufier). 
Count !  this  comparison  you  make,  not  I 

K  2 


52  THE  PICCOLOMINI.  [aCT  I; 

ILLO. 

Why,  were  we  all  the  Court  supposes  us 
Twerc  dangerous,  sure,  to  give  us  liberty 

QUESTENBERG  (gravely). 
You  have  taken  liberty — it  was  not  given  you 
And  therefore  it  becomes  an  urgent  duty 
To  rein  it  in  with  curbs. 

[iLLO. 

Expect  to  find  a  restive  steed  in  us. 

QUESTENBERG. 

A  better  rider  may  be  found  to  rule  it. 

ILLO. 

He  only  brooks  the  rider  who  has  tamed  him. 

QUESTENBERG 

Ay,  tame  him  once,  and  then  a  child  may  lead  him. 

rLLO. 
The  child,  we  know,  is  found  for  him  already 

QUESTENBERG. 

Be  duty,  sir,  your  study,  not  a  name 
BUTLER  {wJio  has  stood  aside  ivith  piccolomini,  but  ivith  viaihh 
interest  in  the  conversation,  advances.) 
Sir  President,  the  Emperor  has  in  Germany 
A  splendid  host  assembled  ;  in  this  kingdom 
Full  twenty  thousand  soldiers  are  cantooned, 
"With  sixteen  thousand  in  Silesia ; 
Ten  regiments  are  posted  on  the  Weser, 
The  Rhine,  and  Maine ;  in  Swabia  there  are  six, 
And  in  Bavaria  twelve,  to  face  the  Swedes  ; 
Without  including  in  th'  account,  the  garrisons 
Who  on  the  frontiers  hold  the  fortresses. 
This  vast  and  mighty  host  is  all  obedient 
To  Friedland's  captains ;  and  its  brave  commanders. 
Bred  in  one  school,  and  nurtured  with  one  milk, 
Are  all  excited  by  one  heart  and  soul ; 
They  are  as  strangers  on  the  soil  they  tread, 
The  service  is  their  only  house  and  home. 
No  zeal  inspires  them  for  their  country's  cause, 
For  thousands  like  myself  were  bom  abroad  ; 
Nor  care  they  for  the  Emp'ror,  for  one  half 
Deserting  other  service  fled  to  ours, 


g(,    jj  ■]  THE  PICCOLOMINI. 

Indiff'rent  what  their  banner,  whether  'twere 
The  Double  Eagle,  Lily,  or  the  Lion. 
Yet  one  sole  man  can  rein  this  fiery  host 
By  eiiual  rule,  by  equal  love  and  fear ; 
Blending  the  many-nationed  whole  m  one ; 
And  like  the  lightning's  fires  securely  led 
Down  the  conducting  rod,  e'en  thus  his  power 
Rules  all  the  mass,  from  guarded  post  to  post. 
From  where  the  sentry  hears  the  Baltic  roar. 
Or  views  the  fertile  vales  of  the  Adige, 
E'en  to  the  body-guard,  who  holds  his  watch 
Within  the  precincts  of  th'  Imperial  palace  ! 

QUESTKNT.EKG. 

What's  the  short  meaning  of  this  long  harangue? 

BUTLER. 

That  the  respect,  the  love,  the  confideuce, 

Which  makes  us  willing  subjects  of  Duke  Friedland. 

Are  not  to  be  transferred  to  the  first  comer 

That  Austria's  Court  may  please  to  send  to  us 

We  have  not  yet  so  readily  forgotten 

How  the  command  came  into  I'riedland  s  handa 

Was  it,  forsooth,  the  Emperor's  majesty 

That  gave  the  army  ready  to  his  hand, 

And  only  sought  a  leader  for  it?     No. 

The  army  then  had  no  existence.     He, 

Friedland  it  was,  who  called  it  into  being. 

And  gave  it  to  his  sovereign— but  receiving 

No  army  at  his  hand ;— nor  did  the  Empero 

Give  W^allenstein  to  us  as  General.— No, 

It  was  from  Wallenstein  we  first  received 

The  Emperor  as  our  master  and  our  sov  reign ; 

And  he,  he  only,  binds  us  to  our  banners !] 

ocTAVio  {interpowig  and  addressing  QUESTENBERd, 
My  noble  friend. 
This  is  no  more  than  a  remembrancing 
That  you  are  now  in  camp,  and  among  warriors 
The  soldier's  boldness  constitutes  his  freedom. 
Could  he  act  daringly,  unless  he  dai-ed 
Talk  even  so  ?     One  runs  into  the  other. 
The  boldness  of  this  worthy  officer, 

[Pointing  to  Butlbb, 


54  THE   PICCOI.OMIKI.  [ACT  I 

Which  now  is  but  mistaken  in  its  mark, 
PreseiTed,  -when  nought  but  bolcbiess  could  prescn'e  it 
To  the  Emperor,  his  capital  city,  Prague, 
In  a  most  formidable  mutiny 

Of  the  whole  garrison.  [Military  music  at  a  distance 

Hah!  here  they  come! 

ILLO. 

The  sentries  are  saluting  them :  this  signal 
Announces  the  arrival  of  the  Duchess. 

OCTAVTO  [to  QUESTENBERgV 

Then  my  son  Max.  too  has  returned.     'Twas  he 
Fetch 'd  and  attended  them  from  Carnthen  hither 

ISOLANI  (to  ILLO). 

Shall  we  not  go  in  company  to  greet  them  ? 

ILLO. 

Well,  let  us  go — Ho !  Colonel  Butler,  come.  \To  Octavio 
You'll  not  forget,  that  yet  ere  noon  we  meet 
The  noble  Envoy  at  the  General's  palace. 

[Exeunt  all  hut  Qdestenberg  and  Octavio 

Scene  III. 
Questenberg  and  Octavio. 
questenberg  [ivith  signs  of  aversion  and  astonishment). 
What  have  I  not  been  forced  to  hear,  Octavio  ! 
What  sentiments  !  what  fierce,  uncurb'd  defiance  I 
And  were  this  spirit  universal — 

OCTAVIO. 

Hm! 

You  are  now  acquainted  with  three-fourths  of  the  army 

questenberg. 
Where  must  we  seek  then  for  a  second  host 
To  have  the  custody  of  this  ?     That  Illo 
Thinks  worse,  I  fear  me,  than  he  speaks.     And  Ui'3U 
This  Butler  too— he  cannot  even  conceal 
The  passionate  workings  of  his  ill  intentions. 

OCTAVIO. 

Quickness  of  temper — irritated  pride ; 
'Twas  nothing  more.     I  cannot  give  up  Butler. 
I  Ivuow  a  spell  that  will  soon  dispossess 
The  evil  spirit  in  him 


gy    III  J  THE   PIOCOLOMINI  '^'^ 

QUESTENBEEG(iraZ/ci«^  up  and  down  in  evident  dhquieU 
Friend,  friend ! 
O  !  this  is  ^\'orse,  far  worse,  than  we  had  suffer'd 
Oui-selves  to  dream  of  at  Vienna.     There 
We  saw  it  only  with  a  courtier's  eyes. 
Eves  dazzled  by  the  splendour  of  the  throne. 
We  had  not  seen  the  War-chief,  the  Commander, 
The  man  all-powerful  in  his  camp.     Here,  here, 
'Tis  quite  another  thing.  ,     .    t- 

Here  is  no  Emperor  more— the  Duke  is  Emperor. 
Alas,  my  friend !  alas,  my  noble  friend  1 
This  waik  which  you  have  ta'en  me  through  tlie  cam;. 
Strikes  my  hopes  prostrate. 

OCTAVIO. 

Now  you  see  yourseli 
Of  what  a  perilous  kind  the  office  is, 
Which  you  deliver  to  me  from  the  Com't. 
The  least  suspicion  of  the  General 
Costs  me  mv  freedom  and  my  life,  and  would 
But  hasten  his  most  desperate  enterprise 

QTJESTENBERG. 

Where  was  our  reason  sleeping  when  we  trusted 
This  madman  with  the  sword,  and  placed  such  power 
In  such  a  hiuid  ?     I  tell  you,  hell  refuse, 
Flatly  refuse,  to  obey  the  Imperial  orders.  _ 
Friend,  he  can  do't,  and  what  he  can,  he  will. 
And  then  the  impunity  of  his  defiance — 
Oh !  what  a  proclamation  of  our  weakness ! 

OCTAVIO. 

D'ye  think  too,  he  has  brought  his  A\ife  and  daughter 

Without  a  purpose  hither  ?     Here  in  camp ! 

And  at  the  very  point  of  time,  in  which 

We're  arming  for  the  war?     That  he  has  taken 

These,  the  last  pledges  of  his  loyalty, 

Away  from  out  the  Emperors  domains — 

This  is  no  doubtl'ul  token  of  the  nearness 

Of  some  eruption? 

QUF.STENDERG. 

How  shall  wc  hold  fc»otiug 
Bensath  this  tempest,  which  collects  itself 


56  THE   PICCOLOMIUI.  [aOT  I. 

And  threats  us  from  all  quarters  ?    The  enemy 
Of  the  empire  on  our  borders,  now  already 
The  master  of  the  Danube,  and  still  farther, 
And  farther  still,  extending  every  hour ! 
In  our  interior  the  alamm-bells 
Of  insurrection  — peasantiy  in  arms — 
All  orders  discontented — and  the  army, 
Just  in  the  moment  of  our  expectation 
Of  aidance  from  it — lo  !  this  very  army 
Seduced,  run  wild,  lost  to  all  discipline. 
Loosen  d,  and  rent  asunder  from  the  state 
And  from  their  sovereign,  the  blind  instnimeut 
Of  the  most  daring  of  mankind,  a  weapon 
Of  fearful  power,  which  at  his  will  he  wields ! 

OCTAVIO 

Nay,  nay,  friend !  let  us  not  despair  too  soou 
Men's  words  are  ever  bolder  than  their  deeds, 
And  many  a  resolute,  who  now  appears 
Made  up  to  all  extremes,  will,  on  a  sudden, 
Find  in  his  breast  a  heart  he  wot  not  of. 
Let  but  a  single  honest  man  speak  out 
The  true  name  of  his  crime !     Remember  too, 
We  stand  not  yet  so  wholly  unprotected.  ^ 
Counts  Altringer  and  Gallas  have  maintain'd 
Their  little  army  faithful  to  its  duty, 
And  daily  it  becomes  more  numerous. 
Nor  can  he  take  us  by  surprise  :  you  know 
I  hold  him  all  encompass'd  by  my  listeners. 
Whate'cr  he  does,  is  mine,  even  while  "tis  doing- 
No  step  so  small,  but  instantly  I  hear  it ; 
Yea,  his  own  mouth  discloses  it. 

QUESTENBEKG 

'Tis  quite 
Incomprehensible,  that  he  detects  not 
The  foe  so  near  I 

OCTAVIO. 

Beware,  you  do  not  think, 
That  I  by  lying  arts,  and  complaisant 
Hypocrisy,  have  skulked  into  his  graces, 
Or  with  the  substance  of  smooth  professions 
Nourish  his  all-coulidmg  friendship  !  No — 


5/ 

SC,  m.l  THE    PICCOLOMINl 

Compell'd  alike  by  prudence,  and  that  duty     ^ 
Which  ^ve  all  owe  our  country,  and  our  sovereitfti 
To  hide  ray  genuine  feeUngs  from  lum,  yet       ^ 
Ne'er  liave  1  duped  him  with  base  counteriest-  : 

QUESTENBERG. 

It  is  the  visible  ordinance  of  Heaven. 

OCTAYIO. 

I  know  not  what  it  is  that  so  attracts 
And  links  him  both  to  me  and  to  my  son. 
Comrades  and  fiiends  we  always  were— long  habit. 
Adventurous  deeds  performed  in  company, 
And  all  those  many  and  various  incidents 
Which  store  a  soldier's  memory  with  affections, 
Had  botmd  us  long  and  early  to  each  other- 
Yet  I  can  name  the  day,  when  all  at  once 
His  heart  rose  on  me,  and  his  confidence 
Shot  out  into  sudden  growth.     It  was  the  mon^.mg 
Before  the  memorable  fight  at  Liitzeu. 
Urged  by  an  ugly  di-eam,  I  sought  him  cut, 
To'press  him  to  accept  another  charger. 
At  a  distance  from  the  tents,  beneath  a  tree, 
I  found  him  in  a  sleep.     When  I  had  waked  hipr 
And  had  related  all  my  bodings  to  him. 
Long  time  he  stared  upon  me,  lilte  a  man 
Asto^mded :  thereon  fell  upon  my  neck, 
And  manifested  to  me  an  emotion 
That  far  outstripp'd  the  worth  of  that  small  service 
Since  then  his  confidence  has  follow'd  me 
With  the  same  pace  that  mine  has  fled  from  him. 

QUESTENBERG 

You  lead  your  son  into  the  secret  ? 

OCTAVIO. 

No! 

QUESTENBERG. 

What !  and  not  warn  him  either  what  bad  hands 
His  lot  has  placed  him  in  ? 

OCTAVIO. 

I  must  perforce 
Leave  him  in  -wardship  to  his  innocence 
\Xid  young  and  open  soul — dissimnlatiou 


jjg  THE  PICCOLOMINI.  [ACT  I. 

1h  foreigu  to  its  habits?    Ignorance 
Alone  can  keep  alive  the  cheerful  air. 
The  iniembarrass'd  sense  and  light  free  spirit, 
That  make  the  Duke  secure, 

QL'ESTENBERG  (anxiousIy). 
Aly  houour'd  friend  !  most  highly  do  I  deem 

Of  Colonel  Piccolomini — yet — if 

Pieflect  a  little 

OCTAVIO 

I  must  venture  it. 
Hush ! — There  he  comes  ! 

Scene  IV 
Max.  Piccolomini,  Octavio  Piccolomini,  Questenderg 

MAX. 

Ha!  there  he  is  himself     Welcome,  my  father! 

[He  embraces  Ids  father  As  he  turns  round,  he  ob- 
serves Questenberg,  and  draws  hack  with  a  culd 
and  reserved  air. 

You  are  engaged,  I  see.     I'll  not  disturb  you. 

OCTAVIO. 

How,  Max.  ]     Look  closer  at  this  visitor. 
Attention,  Max.,  an  old  friend  merits— iieverence 
Belongs  of  right  to  the  envoy  of  your  sovereign. 

MAX.  (drill/). 
Von  Questenberg  !— Welcome— if  you  bring  with  you 
Aught  good  to  our  head  quarters. 

QUESTENBERG  [seizing  his  hand). 

Nay,  draw  not 
Your  hand  away,  Count  Piccolomini ! 
Not  on  mine  own  account  alone  I  seized  it. 
And  nothing  common  will  I  say  therewith. 

\Takin(j  the  hands  of  hot,h 
Octavio — Max.  Piccolomini ! 
0  saviour  names,  and  full  of  happy  omen  ! 
Ne'er  will  her  prosperous  genius  turn  from  Austria, 
While  two  such  stars,  with  blessed  influences 
Beaming  protection,  shine  above  her  hosts. 


so.  rv.]  THE   PICCOLOMINI. 

MAX. 

Heh ! — Noble  minister !     You  miss  your  part. 
You  came  not  liere  to  act  a  panegyric. 
You're  sent,  I  know,  to  find  fault  and  to  scold  us — 
I  must  not  be  beforehand  witli  my  comrades. 

OCTAVIO    {to  MAX.). 

He  comes  from  court,  where  people  are  not  quite 
So  well  contented  with  the  Duke,  as  here. 

MAX. 

What  now  have  they  contrived  to  find  out  in  him  ' 
That  he  alone  determines  for  himself 
What  he  himself  alone  doth  understand  !  _     ,    ^ 
Well,  therem  he  does  right,  and  will  p-ersist  in  't 
Heaven  never  meant  him  for  that  passive  thing 
That  can  be  struck  and  hammer'd  out  to  suit 
Another's  taste  and  fancy.     He'll  not  dance 
To  every  tune  of  every  minister  • 
It  goes  agamst  liis  nature— he  can't  do  it, 
He  is  possess'd  by  a  commanding  spirit, 
And  his,  too,  is  the  station  of  command. 
And  well  for  us  it  is  so  !     There  exist 
Few  fit  to  rule  themselves,  but  few  that  usQ 
Their  intellects  intelligently.     Then 
"VN  ell  for  the  whole,  if  there  be  found  a  man. 
Who  makes  himself  what  nature  destined  him, 
The  pause,  the  central  point,  to  thousand  thousands- 
Stands  fixed  and  stixtely,  like  a  firm-built  column. 
Where  all  may  press  with  joy  and  confidence 
Now  such  a  man  is  Wallenstein ;  and  if 
Another  better  suits  the  court— no  other 
Ijut  such  a  one  as  he  can  serve  the  army 

QUESTENBERG 

The  army?     Doubtless! 

[max 
Wliat  delight  t'observo 

How  he  incites  and  strengthens  all  around  hnn, 
"Infusing  life  and  vigour.     Every  power 
Seems  as  it  were  redoubled  by  his  presence : 
Ee  di-aws  forth  every  latent  energy, 
Showing  to  each  his  "own  peculiar  talant, 


59 


60  THE   PICCOLOMINl.  [  AOT  I 

Yet  leaving  all  to  be  what  nature  made  thenr, 
And  watching  only  that  they  be  nought  else 
In  the  light  place  and  time  ;  and  he  has  skill 
To  mould  the  powers  of  all  to  his  o\m  end. 

QUESTENBERG. 

But  who  denies  his  knowledge  of  mankind, 
And  slull  to  use  it?     Our  complaint  is  this  : — 
That  in  the  master  he  forgets  the  servant, 
As  if  he  claimed  by  birth  his  present  honours 

MAX. 

And  does  he  not  so  ?     Is  he  not  endow'd 
With  every  gift  and  power  to  cany  out 
The  high  intents  of  nature,  and  to  win 
A  rulers  station  by  a  ruler's  talent? 

QUESTEN'BERG. 

So  then  it  seems  to  rest  with  him  alone 
What  is  the  worth  of  all  mankind  beside ! 

MAX. 

Uncommon  men  require  no  common  trust ; 
Give  him  but  scope,  and  he  will  set  the  bounds 

QUESTENBERG 

The  proof  is  yet  to  come. 

MAX. 

Thus  are  ye  ever. 
Ye  shrink  from  every  thing  of  depth,  and  think 
Yourselves  are  only  safe  while  ye 're  in  shallows  ] 

OCTAVIO  (to  QUESTENBERG). 

'Twere  best  to  yield  with  a  good  grace,  my  friend. 
Of  him  tliero  you'll  make  nothing. 

MAX.  (continuing). 

In  their  fear 
They  call  a  spirit  up,  and  when  he  oomes, 
Straight  their  flesh  creeps  and  quivers,  and  they  dread  him 
More  than  the  ills  for  which  they  call'd  him  up- 
The  uncommon,  the  sublime,  must  seem  and  be 
Like  things  of  every  day  .    But  in  the  field. 
Ay,  there  the  Present  Being  makes  itself  felty 
'i'iie  personal  must  command,  the  actual  eye 
F^amine  ^  If  to  be  the  chieftain  asks 


S(.,  j-^r  j  THE   PIGCOLOMINI.  "l 

All  tiiat  is  great  in  natui-e,  let  it  be 

Likewise  bis  privilege  to  move  and  act 

In  all  tbe  correspondences  of  greatness. 

The  oracle  within  him,  that  which  lives. 

He  must  invoke  and  question— not  dead  books, 

Not  ordinances,  not  mould-rotted  papers. 

OCTAVIO. 

My  son  !  of  those  old  naiTow  ordinances 

Let  us  not  hold  too  lightly.     They  are  weights 

Of  priceless  value,  which  oppress'd  mankind 

Tied  to  the  volatile  will  of  their  oppressors. 

I'or  always  formidable  was  the  league 

And  partnership  of  free  power  with  free  will. 

The  way  of  ancieut  ordinance,  though  it  winds. 

Is  yet  no  devious  path.     Straight  forward  goes 

The  lightnings  path,  and  straight  the  feariul  path 

Of  the  cannon  ball.     Direct  it  flies,  nid  rapid ; 

Shattering  that  it  maij  reach,  and  shattering  what  it  reaches. 

My  son !  the  road  the  human  bemg  travels. 

That,  on  which  blessing  comes  and  goes,  doth  follow 

The  liver's  course,  the  valley's  playful  windings, 

Curves  round  the  com  field  and  the  hill  of  vines, 

Honouring  the  holy  bounds  of  property ! 

And  thus  secm-e,  though  late,  leads  to  its  end 

QUESTEN'BERG. 

0  hear  your  father,  noble  youth !  hear  him. 
Who  is  at  once  the  hero  and  the  man. 

OCTAVIO. 

My  son,  the  nursling  of  the  camp  spoke  in  thee ! 
A  war  of  fifteen  years 
Hath  been  thy  education  and  thy  school. 
Peace  hast  thou  never  witness'd !     There  exists 
A-n  higher  than  the  wanior's  excellence. 
[n  war  itself  wai-  is  no  ultimate  purpose. 
The  vast  and  sudden  deeds  of  violence. 
Adventures  wild,  and  wonders  of  the  moment, 
These  are  not  they,  my  son,  that  generate  . 

Tbe  Calm,  the  Bhssful,  and  the  enduring  Mighty  J 
Lo  there  !  the  soldier,  rapid  architect ! 
Builds  his  light  town  of  canvas,  and  at  once 
The  whole  scene  moves  and  bixstles  momently, 


02  THE   PICCOLOMIi<I.  [AOT  !• 

"With  arms,  aiid  neighing  steeds,  and  mirth  and  quarrel 

The  motley  market  fills ;  the  roads,  the  streams  / 

Ai-e  crowded  -with  new  freights  ;  trade  stirs  and  hurries 

But  on  some  morrow  mom,  all  suddenly, 

The  tents  drop  down,  the  horde  renews  its  march. 

Dreary,  and  solitary  as  a  church-yard 

The  meadow  and  down-trodden  seed-plot  lie, 

A.nd  the  year's  harvest  is  gone  utterly 

MAX. 

0  let  the  Emperor  make  peace,  my  father ! 
Most  gladly  would  I  give  the  blood-stained  laui'el 
For  the  first  violet  *  of  the  leafless  spring, 
Pluck 'd  in  those  quiet  fields  where  I  have  journey 'd 

OCTAVIO. 

What  ails  thee  ?  Wliat  so  moves  thee  all  at  once  ? 

MAX. 

Peace  have  I  ne'er  beheld  ?     I  have  beheld  it. 

From  thence  am  I  come  hither :  0  !  that  sight, 

It  glimmers  still  before  me,  like  some  landscape 

Left  in  the  distance, — some  delicious  landscape  I 

jMy  road  conducted  me  through  countries  where 

The  war  has  not  yet  reach'd.     Life,  life,  my  father— 

My  venerable  father,  life  has  charms 

Which  u-e  have  ne'er  experienced.     We  have  bee» 

But  voyaging  along  its  barren  coasts, 

Like  some  poor  ever-roaming  horde  of  pirates. 

That,  crowded  in  the  rank  and  narrow  ship, 

House  on  the  wild  sea  with  wild  usages, 

Nor  know  aught  of  the  main  land,  but  the  bays 

Where  safeliest  they  may  venture  a  thieves'  landing 

Whate'er  in  the  inland  dales  the  land  conceals 

Of  fair  and  exquisite,  O  !  nothing,  nothing, 

Do  we  behold  of  that  in  our  rude  voyage. 

OCTAVIO  {attentive,  vntli  an  appearance  of  xmcaaUie&th 
And  so  your  journey  has  revealed  this  to  you  "^ 

•  In  the  original, 

"  Den  blut'gen  Lorbeer  geb'ich  hin  mit  Freuden 
Furs  erste  Vcilchen,  das  der  Marz  uns  bringt, 
Das  diirftige  Pfand  dor  neuverjungten  Erde." 


go,  lY.]  THE   PICCOLOMINI.  G3 

MAX 

Twas  the  first  leisure  of  my  life.     0  tell  mc, 

What  is  the  meed  and  purpose  of  the  toil, 

The  painful  toil  ^vhich  robb'd  me  of  my  youth, 

Left  me  a  heart  unsoul'd  and  solitary, 

A  spirit  uninform'd,  unomamented  ! 

For  the  camp's  stir,  and  crowd,  and  ceaseless  laram. 

The  neighing  war-horse,  the  air-shattering  trampet, 

The  unvaried,  still  retui-ning  hour  of  duty, 

Word  of  command,  and  exercise  of  arms — 

There's  nothing  here,  there's  nothing  in  all  this. 

To  satisfy  the  heart,  the  gasping  heart ! 

Mere  bustling  nothingness,  where  the  soul  is  not— 

This  cannot  be  the  sole  felicity. 

These  cannot  be  man's  best  and  only  pleasures  I 

OCTAYIO. 

Much  hast  thou  learnt,  my  son,  in  this  short  journey. 

MAX. 

0  !  day  thrice  lovely !  when  at  length  the  soldier 
Returns  home  into  life  ;  when  he  becomes 
A.  fellow-man  among  his  fellow-men. 
The  colours  are  unfurl'd,  the  cavalcade 
Marshals,  and  now  the  buzz  is  hush'd,  and  hark ! 
Now  the  soft  peace-march  beats,  home,  brothers,  home 
Tlie  caps  and  helmets  are  all  garlanded 
With  green  boughs,  the  last  plundering  of  the  fields. 
The  city  gates  ily  open  of  themselves. 
They  need  no  longer  the  petard  to  tear  them. 
The  ramparts  are  all  filled  ^ith  men  and  women. 
With  peaceful  men  and  women,  that  send  onwards 
Kisses  and  welcomings  upon  the  air, 
Which  they  make  breezy  with  affectionate  gestures 
From  all  the  towers  rings  out  the  merry  peal, 
The  joyous  vespers  of  a  bloody  day. 
O  happy  man,  0  fortunate  !  for  whom 
The  well-known  door,  the  faithful  arms  are  open, 
The  faithful  tender  arms  with  mute  embracing. 
QUKSTENBERG  [apparetitlij  muck  affected). 
0  that  you  should  speak 
Of  such  a  distant,  distant  time,  and  not 
Of  the  to-morrow,  not  of  this  to-day 


(54  Tiir;  piccolomiki  [aot  i, 

MAX.  [turning  round  to  him  quick  and  vehementj 
Where  lies  the  fault  but  on  you  iu  Vienna ! 
I  will  deal  openly  with  you,  Questeuberg. 
Just  now,  as  first  I  saw  you  standing  here, 
(I'll  own  it  to  you  freely,)  indignation 
Crowded  and  press 'd  my  mmost  soul  together. 
'Tis  ye  that  hinder  peace,  ye ! — and  the  warrior. 
It  is  the  warrior  that  must  force  it  from  you. 
Ye  fret  the  General's  life  out,  blacken  him, 
Hold  him  up  as  a  rebel,  and  Heaven  knows 
What  else  still  worse,  because  he  spares  the  Saxons, 
And  tries  to  awaken  confidence  in  the  enemy; 
Which  yet's  the  only  why  to  peace  :  for  if 
War  intermit  not  during  war,  how  then 
And  u-hence  can  peace  come  ?  Your  own  plagues  fall  on  you ! 
Even  as  1  love  what's  virtuous,  hate  I  you. 
And  here  1  make  this  vow,  here  pledge  myself, 
My  blood  shall  spurt  out  for  this  Wallenstein, 
And  my  heait  drain  off,  drop  by  drop,  ere  ye 
Shall  revel  and  dance  jubilee  o'er  his  ruin.     [Exit 

Scene  V. 

QUESTENBERG,  OCTAVIO  PiCCOLOMJXI 
QUESTENBEEG. 

Alas,  alas !  and  stands  it  so  ? 

[Then  in  pressing  and  impatient  tonus 
What  friend !  and  do  we  let  him  go  away 
In  this  delusion— let  him  go  away  ? 
Not  call  him  back  immediately,  not  open 
His  eyes  upon  the  spot  ? 

OCTAVIO  [recovering  himself  out  of  a  deep  study) 
He  has  now  open'd  mine, 
And  1  see  more  than  pleases  me 

QUESTENBERG  _. 

What  is  ;t? 

OCTAVIO. 

Curse  on  this  joumey  I 

QUESTENBERG. 

But  why  so  ?    What  is  it  ? 


SC.  v.]  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  65 

0C7AVI0. 

Corns,  come  along,  friend !  I  must  follow  up 
The  ominous  track  immediately.  Mine  eyes 
Are  open'd  now,  and  I  must  use  them.     Come  ! 

[Draivs  Qdestenberg  on  uith  him. 

QDESTENBERG. 

What  now  ?     Where  go  you  then  ? 

OCTAVIO. 

To  her  herself. 

QUES'PEJyBERG 

To 

OCTA'Vio  {interrupl'mg  him,  and  correctinrj  himself) 
To  the  Duke.     Come  let  us  go — 'Tis  done,  'tis  done, 
I  see  the  net  that  is  thrown  over  liim. 
Oh !  he  returns  not  to  me  as  he  went 

QUESTENBERG. 

Nay,  hut  explain  yourself. 

OCTAVIO. 

And  that  i  should  not 
Foresee  it,  not  prevent  this  journey !     Wherefore 
Did  I  keep  it  from  him  ? — You  were  in  the  right 
I  should  have  warn'd  him !  Now  it  is  too  late. 

QUESTENBERG. 

But  what's  too  late  ?    Bethink  yourself,  my  friend, 
That  you  are  talldng  absolute  riddles  to  me. 

OCTAVIO  [more  colUcted). 
Come !  to  the  Duke's.     'Tis  close  upon  the  horn 
Which  he  appointed  you  for  audience.     Come ! 
A  curse,  a  threefold  curse,  upon  tliis  journey ! 

{He  leads  Questenberg  off 

ACT  II, 

Scene  I. 
CJuinges  to  a  spacious  Chamber  in  the  House  of  the  Duke  of 
Priedland. — Servants  employed  in  puttin.j  the  tables  and 
chairs  in  order  — During  this  enters  Sent,  like  an  old 
Italian  Doctor,  in  black,  and  clothed  somewhat  fantastic- 
ally. He  carries  a  white  staff,  icith  ichich  he  marks  out 
the  quarters  of  the  heavens. 

FIRST    SERVANT. 

Come — to  it,  lads,  to  it !     l\li\kc  an  end  of  it.     I  hear  the 


0(5  rHE  pxccoLOMim.  L^gt  ii. 

sentry  call  out.    '  Stand  to  your  ams!"     They  will  be  hero 
in  a  minute 

SECOND    SERVANT. 

Why  were  we  not  told  before  that  the  audience  would  be 
held  here?     Nothing  prepared— no  orders— no  instructions. 

THIRD  SERVANT. 

Ay,  and  why  was  the  balcony  chamber  countermanded,  that 
with  the  great  worked  carpet?  There  one  can  look  about  ono 

FIRST    SERVANT. 

Nay,  that  you  must  ask  the  mathematician  there.  He  says 
it  is  an  unlucky  chamber. 

SECOND    SERVANT. 

Poh :  stuff  and  nonsense  !  That's  what  I  call  a  hiun.  A 
chamber  is  a  chamber ;  what  much  can  the  place  signify  in 
the  affair  ? 

SENi  [ivlth  gravity). 

My  son,  there's  notJuug  insignificant, 

Nothing .'     But  yet  in  every  earthly  thing 

First  and  most  principal  is  place  and  time. 

FIRST    SERVANT   {tO  the  SCCOHcl). 

Say  nothing  (o  him,  Nat.  The  Duke  himself  must  let  him 
have  his  own  will 

SENI  ^counts  the  chairs,  half  in  a  loud,  half  in  a  low  voice,  till 
he  comes  to  eleven,  u-hich  he  repeats). 

Eleven !  an  evil  number !     Set  twelve  chairs. 

Twelve !  twelve  signs  hath  the  zodiac :  five  and  seven, 

The  holy  numbers,  include  themselves  in  twelve. 

SECOND    SERVANT. 

And  wnat  may  you  have  to  object  against  eleven?  I  sliould 
like  to  know  that  now. 

SENI. 

Eleven  is  transgression ;  eleven  oversteps 
The  ten  commandments. 

SECOND    SERVANT. 

That's  good !  and  why  do  you  call  five  a  holy  number  ? 

SENI. 

Five  is  the  soul  of  man :  for  even  as  man 
Is  mingled  up  of  good  and  evil,  so 
The  five  is  the  first  number  that's  made  up 
Of  even  and  odd. 


SC.  n.]  THE    PICCOLOillSI  67 

SECOND    SERVANT. 

The  foolish  old  coxcomb  I 

FIBST    SERVANT. 

Ay!  let  him  alone  though     I  lilie  to  hear  him;  tlicre  is 
more  in  his  words  than  can  be  seen  at  first  sight. 

THIRD    SERVANT 

OIT,  they  come. 

SECOND   SERVANT 

There !  Out  at  the  side-door 

{They  hurry  off.  Seni  follows  slowly.  A  Page 
brings  the  staff  of  command  on  a  red  cushion,  and 
places  it  on  the  table  near  the  Dukes  chair.  They 
are  announced  from  icithout,  and  the  loings  of  the 
door  fly  open. 

Scene  II. 
Wallenstein,  Duchess 
waxlenstein 
You  went  then  through  Vienna,  were  presented 
To  the  Queen  of  Huugaiy  ? 

duchess. 

Yes ;  and  to  the  Empress  too, 
And  by  both  Majesties  were  we  admitted 
To  kiss  the  hand 

wallenstein. 
And  how  was  it  received, 
That  I  had  sent  for  wife  and  daughter  hithei 
To  tlie  camp,  in  winter-time  ? 

DUCHESS. 

I  did  even  that 
Which  you  commission'd  me  to  do.     I  told  them, 
You  had  determined  on  our  daughter's  marriage, 
.And  wish'd,  ere  yet  you  went  into  the  field, 
To  show  the  electedhusband  his  betrothed. 

wallenstein. 
And  did  they  guess  the  choice  which  I  had  made  ? 

duchess. 
They  only  hoped  and  wish'd  it  may  have  fallen 
Upon  no  foreign  nor  yet  Lutheran  noble. 

f2 


08  Tmc  piccoLoiuKi.  [act  11. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And  you — wliat  do  you  wish,  Elizabeth? 

DUCHESS. 

Your  will,  you  know,  was  always  mine. 

W'ALLEKSTKiN  [after  a  pause). 

Well  then — 
And  in  all  else,  of  what  kind  and  complexion 
Was  your  reception  at  the  court  ? 

[The  Duchess  casts  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  and 
remains  silent 
Hide  nothing  from  me.     How  were  you  received  ? 

duchess. 
0  !  my  dear  lord,  all  is  not  what  it  was. 
A  canker-worm,  my  lord,  a  canker-worm 
Has  stolen  into  the  bud. 

WALLEN3TEIX. 

Ay !  is  it  so ! 
What,  they  were  lax?  they  fail'd  of  the  old  respect? 

duchess. 
Not  of  respect.     No  honours  were  omitted, 
No  outward  courtesy ;  but  in  the  place 
Of  condescending,  confidential  kindness, 
Familiar  and  endearing,  there  were  given  me 
Only  these  honours  and  that  solemn  courtesy. 
Ah !  and  the  tenderness  which  was  put  on, 
It  was  the  guise  of  pity  not  of  favour. 
No  !  Albrecht's  wife,  Duke  Albrecht's  princely  wife, 
Count  Harrach's  noble  daughter,  should  not  so — 
Not  wholly  so  should  she  have  been  received. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Ves,  yes ;  'Jiey  have  ta'cn  offence.     My  latest  conduct 
They  rail'd  at  it,  no  doubt. 

DUCHESS. 

0  that  they  had! 
T  have  been  long  accustomed  to  defend  you. 
To  heal  and  pacify  distemper'd  spirits. 
No  ;  no  one  rail'd  at  you.     They  wrapp'd  them  up, 
O  Heaven  !  in  such  oppressive,  solemn  silence  ! — 
Here  is  v.o  evcrj'-day  misunderstanding. 
No  transient  pique,  no  cloud  that  passes  over; 


gp^  jj  T  THE   PICCOLOMDTx. 

Something  most  luckless,  most  unliealable. 
Har  takeo  place.     The  Queen  of  Hungary 
Used  formerly  to  call  me  her  dear  aunt. 
And  ever  at  departure  to  embrace  me— 

VTALLENSTEIX- 

Xow  she  omitted  it? 

DUCHESS  [u-iplng  aiiay  her  tears  after  a  pausey 
She  did  embrace  me, 
But  then  first  when  I  had  already  taken 
My  formal  leave,  and  when  tne  door  already 
Had  closed  upon  me,  then  did  she  come  out 
Tn  haste,  as  she  had  suddenly  bethought  herself. 
And  press'd  me  to  her  bosom,  more  with  anguish 
Than  tenderness. 

-w ALLEN-STEIN  {seizes  her  hand  soothingly). 
Nay,  now  collect  yourself. 
And  what  of  Eggenberg  and  Lichtensteiu, 
And  of  our  other  friends  there  ?— 

DOCHESS    shaking  her  head). 

I  saw  none. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  Ambassador  from  Spain,  who  once  was  wont 
To  plead  so  warmly  for  me  ? — 

DDCUESS. 

Silent,  silent! 

WAiLENSTEIN. 

These  suns  then  are  eclipsed  for  us.     Hencefoi-ward 
Must  we  roll  on,  our  own  fire,  our  own  light. 

DUCHESS. 

And  were  it — were  it,  my  dear  lord,  ui  that 
Which  mov'd  about  the  court  in  buzz  and  whisper, 
But  in  the  country  let  itself  be  heard 
.\loud — in  that  which  Father  Lamormain 

In  sundry  hints  and 

WA.IXENSTETN  (eag(rhj). 

Lamormain  I  what  said  hi 

DUCHESS. 

Tliat  you're  accused  of  having  daringly 
O'erstepped  the  powers  entrusted  to  you,  cbarged 


69 


70  THE  PICCOLOMINI,  [ACT  n 

With  trdtorous  contempt  of  the  Emperor 

And  his  supreme  behests.     The  proud  Bavarian, 

He  and  the  Spaniards  stand  up  your  accusers — 

That  there's  a  storm  collecting  over  you 

Of  far  more  fearful  menace  than  that  former  one 

Which  whirl'd  you  headlong  down  at  Regensburrt, 

And  people  talk,  said  he,  of Ah ! — 

[Stifiing  ext'^eme  emotion 

WALLEXSTEIN. 

rrocccdl 

DUCHESS 

I  cannot  v  tter  It  i 

WALLEXSTEIN 

Proceed ! 

DUCHESS. 

They  talk- 

WALLEKSTEIN 

We.l ! 

DUCHESS 

Of  a  second {catches  her  voice  and  hesitrttes\ 

WALLENSTEIN 

Second 


DUCHESS 

More  disgraceful 

— — Dismission 

WALLENSTEIN 

Talk  they? 
[Strides  across  the  Chamber  in  vehement  agilation. 

0  !  they  force,  they  thrust  me 
With  violence,  against  my  own  will,  onward ! 

DUCHESS  {incsses  near  to  him  in  entreaty). 
0  !  if  there  yet  be  time,  my  husband !  if 
By  giving  way  and  by  submission,  this 
Can  be  averted— my  dear  lord,  give  way ! 
Win  down  your  proud  heart  to  it !     Tell  that  heart, 
It  is  your  sovereign  lord,  your  Emperor 
Before  whom  you  retreat.     0  let  no  longer 
Low  tricldng  malice  blacken  your  good  meanmg 
With  abhorr'd  venomous  glosses.     Stand  you  up 


gj.   Uj.J  THE   nCCOLOMIXI.  ' -<• 

Shielded  and  helm'd  and  weapon'd  witli  the  truth, 

And  drive  before  you  into  uttermost  sliame 

These  slanderous  liars !     Few  firm  friends  have  we— 

You  know  it !— The  swift  growth  of  our  good  fortune, 

It  hath  but  set  us  up  a  mark  for  hatred. 

What  are  we,  if  the  sovereign's  grace  and  favour 

Stand  not  before  us  ! 

SCEKE  III. 

Enter  the  Countess  Terzkt,  leading  in  her  hand  the  Princess 

Thekla,  richhj  adorned  icith  Brilliants 

Countess,  Thekea,  ^YALLE^•sTEI^^  Duchess 

Countess 

How,  sister !     What,  already  upon  business? 

[Observing  the  countenance  of  the  Duche5S 
And  business  of  no  pleasing  land  I  see, 
Ere  he  has  gladdend  at  his  child.     The  first 
Moment  belongs  to  joy      Here,  Friedland  !  father  ! 

This  is  thv  daugliter  ,    .    -j     •  7 

[Thekla  approaches  with  a  shy  and  timid  air.  and 
bends  herself  as  about  to  hiss  his  hand.  He  re- 
ceives her  in  his  arms,  and  remains  standing  for 
some  time  lost  in  the  feeling  of  her  presence 

WAELENSTEIN. 

Yes !  pui-e  and  lovelv  hath  hope  risen  on  me  , 
I  take  her  as  the  pledge  of  greater  fortune 

DUCHESS. 

Twas  but  a  little  child  when  you  departed 
To  raise  up  that  great  army  for  the  Emperor : 
And  after,  at  the  close  of  the  campaign, 
\Yhen  you  returned  home,  out  of  Pomerania, 
Your  daughter  was  already  in  the  convent, 
Wherein  she  has  remained  till  now 

WALLEKSTEIN. 

The  while 
\Ye  in  the  field  here  gave  our  cares  and  toils 
To  make  her  great,  and  fight  her  a  free  way 
To  the  loftiest  earthly  good;  lo  !  mother  Nature 
Withm  the  peaceful  silent  convent  wails 


73  THH     PICCOLOMINI.  [AOT  H. 

Has  done  her  part,  and  out  of  her  free  grace 
Hath  she  bestow'd  on  the  beloved  child 
Tlie  god-like ;  and  now  leads  her  thus  adorn'd 
To  meet  her  splendid  fortune,  and  my  hope. 

DUCHESS    {to  THEKLa). 

Thou  wouldst  not  now  have  recognised  thy  ftilher, 
Wouldst  thou,  my  child  ?     She  counted  scarce  eiglit  years, 
When  last  she  saw  your  face. 

THEKLA. 

0  yes,  yes,  mother ! 
At  the  first  glance  !— My  father  has  not  alter'd. 
The  form  that  stands  before  me  falsifies 
No  feature  of  the  image  that  hath  lived 
So  long  within  me  ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  voice  of  my  child  ! 

[Then  after  a  pauss 
I  was  indignant  at  my  destiny, 
That  it  denied  me  a  man-child,  to  be 
Heir  of  my  name  and  of  my  prosperous  fortune, 
And  re-illume  my  soou  extinguished  being 
In  a  proud  line  of  princes. 
I  wronfred  my  destiny.     Here  upon  this  head, 
So  lovely  in  its  maiden  bloom  will  I 
Let  fall  the  garland  of  a  life  of  war. 
Nor  deem  it  lost,  if  only  I  can  wreath  it. 
Transmuted  to  a  regal  ornament. 
Around  these  beauteous  brows, 

[He  clasps  her  in  his  arms  as  PlccoLOMiNl  enters 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Max.  Piccolomini,  and  some  time  after  Count  Teezkt, 

the  others  remaining  as  before. 

COUNTESS. 

There  comes  the  Paladin  who  protected  us 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Max. !  Welcome,  ever  vclcome  !  Always  wert  thou 
The  morning  star  of  my  best  joys  ! 

MAX. 

My  General—-— 


BC.  lY.]  THE   PICCOLOMINI.  73 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Till  now  it  was  the  Emperor  who  rewarded  thee, 
I  but  the  instrument      This  day  thou  hast  bouua 
The  father  to  thee,  Max  1  the  fortunate  father, 
And  this  debt  Friedhuid's  self  must  pay. 

MAX. 

My  prince ! 
You  made  no  common  hurry  to  transfer  it. 
I  come  with  shame :  yea,  not  without  a  pang  ! 
For  scarce  have  I  arrived  here,  scarce  deliver  d 
The  mother  and  the  daughter  to  your  arms, 
But  there  is  brought  to  me  from  your  equeny  * 
A  splendid  richly-plated  hunting  dress 
So  to  remunerate  me  for  my  troubles — 
Yes,  yes,  remunerate  me  !  Since  a  trouble 
It  must  be,  a  mere  office,  not  a  favour 
Which  I  leapt  forward  to  receive,  and  which 
I  came  with  grateful  heart  to  thank  you  for. 
No !  'twas  not  so  intended,  that  my  business 
Should  be  my  highest  best  good  fortune !  ^ 

[Terzkt  enters,  and  delivers  letters  to  the  Duke. 
which  he  breaks  open  hurriedhj. 

COUNTESS    (to  MAX.). 

Remunerate  your  trouble  !  For  his  joy 

He  makes  you  recompense.^    'Tis  not  unfitting 

For  you,  Count  Piccolomini,  to  feel 

So  tenderly — my  brother  it  beseems 

To  show  himself  for  ever  great  and  princely 

THEKLA. 

Then  I  too  must  have  scruples  of  his  love : 
For  his  munificent  hands  did  oniament  me 
Ere  yet  the  fathers  heart  had  spoken  to  me. 

•  A  reviewer  in  the  Literary/  Gazette  observes  that,  in  these  Tnes,  Mr. 
f;olend<-e  has  misapprehended  the  meaning  of  the  word  "  zug,"  a  team,  trans- 
lating it  as  "  anzug,-  a  suit  of  clothes.    The  following  version,  as  a  substituW, 

"        "When  from  your  stables  there  is  brought  to  me 
A  team  of  four  most  richly  harnessed  horses. 
The  term,  however,  is  "jagd-zug,"  which  may  mean  a  "hunting  equipage,^ 
„  a  "  hunting  stud ;  "  although  Hilpert  gives  only  "  a  team      four  horses. 


74  THE   PICCOLOMINl.  [KC'S   11. 

MAX 

Yes ;  'tis  his  nature  ever  to  be  giving 
And  making  happy. 

[He  gms2)s  the  hand  of  the  Duchess  mlh  mill  in 
creasing  ivarmth. 

How  my  heart  pours  out 
Its  all  of  thanks  to  him !  O  !  how  I  seem 
To  utter  all  things  in  the  dear  name— Friedland. 
While  I  shall  live,  so  long  will  I  remain 
The  captive  of  this  name  :  in  it  shall  bloom 
My  every  fortune,  every  lovely  hepe. 
Inextricably  as  in  some  magic  ring 
In  this  name  hath  my  destiny  charm-bound  me  ! 

COUNTESS  {ivho  during  this  time  has  been  anxiously  watching 
the  PUKE,  and  remarks  that  lie  is  lost  in  thought  over  the 
letters). 

My  brother  wishes  us  to  leave  him.     Come. 

WALLEXSTEiN  (tums  Mmself  round  quick,  collects  himself. 

and  speaks  uilh  cheerfxdness  to  the  duchess). 
Once  more  I  bid  thee  welcome  to  the  camp, 
Thou  art  the  hostess  of  this  court.     You,  Max., 
Will  now  again  administer  your  old  office, 
^Yhile  we  perform  the  sovereign's  business  here. 

[Max.  PiccoLOMiNi  offers  the  Duchess  his  arm;  the 
Countess  accompanies  the  Peikcess 

TERZKY  {calling  after  him). 
Max  ,  we  depend  on  seeing  you  at  the  meeting 

Scene  V. 
Wallenstein.  Count  Terzky 
WALLENSTEii?  [in  dccp  tkought,  to  himself^. 
She  has  seen  all  things  as  they  are — It  is  so 
And  squares  completely  with  my  other  notices 
They  have  determined  finally  in  Vienna, 
Have  given  me  my  successor  already ; 
It  is  the  King  of  Hungary,  Ferdinand, 
'I'lie  Emperor's  delicate  son  !  he's  now  their  s:a'.iom, 
He's  the  new  star  that's  rising  now  !     Of  us 
They  tbink  themselves  already  fairly  rid. 


gQ_  y  1  THE    PIOCOLOMINI.  "^ 

And  as  we  were  deceased,  the  heir  already 
Isenteringoupossession— Therefore— despatch!  _ 

[As  he  turns  round  he  observes  Teezicv,  and  givc^ 
him  a  letter. 
Count  Altrmger  will  have  himself  excused, 
And  G alias  too— I  like  not  this! 

TEKZKT 

And  if 
Thou  loiterest  longer,  all  will  fall  away, 
One  following  the  other. 

WALI-ENSTEIN 

Altringer 
[s  master  of  the  Tyrol  passes      I  must  forthwith 
Send  some  one  to  him,  that  he  let  not  m 
The  Spaniards  on  me  from  the  Milanese. 

Well,  and  the  old  Sesin,  that  ancient  trader 

In  contraband  negociations,  he  ,    •        i 

Has  shown  himself  again  of  late.     What  bni^gs  ho 
From  the  Count  Thur  ? 

TERZKY. 

The  Count  communicates 
He  has  found  out  the  Swedish  Chancellor 
At  Halberstadt,  where  the  convention's  held, 
Wlio  says,  you've  tired  him  out,  and  that  he'll  iiave 
No  further  dealings  with  you. 

WALLEKSTEIN'. 

And  why  so  ? 

TERZKY. 

He  says,  you  are  never  in  earnest  in  your  speeches ; 
That  you  decoy  the  Swedes— to  make  fools  of  them ' 
Will  league  yourself  with  Saxony  against  them, 
.\nd  at  last  make  yourself  a  riddance  of  them 
^Yith  a  paltry  sum  of  money 

WALEENSTEIN. 

So  then,  doubtless, 
Yes,  doubtless,  this  same  modest  Swede  ex]^ccls 
That  I  shall  yield  him  some  fair  German  tract 
For  his  prey  and  booty,  that  ourselves  at  last 
On  our  own  soil  and  native  territory 


76 


THE  PICCOLOMINr  [ACT   H- 

May  be  to  longer  our  own  lords  and  masters ! 
An  excellent  scheme  !  No,  no !  They  must  be  off, 
Off,  off!  away!  ice  want  no  such  neighbours. 

TERZKY. 

Nay,  yield  them  up  that  dot,  that  speck  of  land  — 
It  goes  not  from  your  portion.     If  you  win  ^ 
The  game,  what  matters  it  to  you  who  pays  if; 

WAIXENSTEIN. 

Off  with  them,  off!  Thou  understand'st  not  this 

Never  shall  it  be  said  of  me,  I  parcell'd 

My  native  land  away,  dismember'd  Germany, 

Betray 'd  it  to  a  foreigner,  in  order 

To  come  with  stealthy  tread,  and  filch  away 

My  own  share  of  the  plunder— Never  !  never ! 

No  foreign  power  shall  strike  root  in  the  empire, 

And  least  of  all  these  Goths  !  tliese  hunger-wolves  t 

Who  send  such  en\'ious,  hot  and  greedy  glances 

Toward  the  rich  blessings  of  our  German  lands! 

I'll  have  their  aid  to  cast  and  draw  my  nets, 

But  not  a  single  fish  of  all  the  draught 

Shall  they  come  in  for. 

TERZKY. 

You  will  deal,  however, 
More  fairly  with  the  Saxons  ?  they  lose  patience 
While  you  shift  round  and  make  so  many  curves. 
Say,  to  wliat  purpose  all  these  masks  ?     Your  frienda 
Are  plunged  in  doubts,  baffled,  and  led  astray  m  you. 
There's  Oxenstiern,  there's  Arnheim— neither  knows 
What  be  should  think  of  your  procrastinations 
And  in  the  end  I  prove  the  liar ;  all 
Passes  through  me.     I've  not  even  your  handwnling 

WALLEXSTEIN 

X  never  give  handwriting ;  and  thou  knowcst  it. 

TERZICY 

But  how  can  it  be  knoim  that  you  are  in  earnest. 

If  the  act  follows  not  upon  the  word? 

You  must  youi-self  acknowledge,  that  in  all 

Your  intercourses  hitherto  with  the  enemy, 

You  might  have  done  with  safety  all  you  have  done, 


fet.A'I.]  THE   PiCCOLOMINl.  ^'^ 

Had  you  meant  nothing  farther  than  to  gull  him 
For  the  Emperor's  service. 

WALLENSTEiN  (after  a  pause,  during  which  he  looks 
narrowly  on  teezict). 
And  from  -whence  dost  thou  imow 
That  I'm  not  gulling  him  for  the  Emperor's  service  ? 
Whence  luiowest  thou  that  I'm  not  gullii  r  all  of  you? 
Dost  thou  know  me  so  ^vell  ?     When  maae  I  thee 
The  intendant  of  my  secret  purposes  ? 
I  am  not  conscious  that  I  ever  open'd 
My  inmost  thoughts  to  thee.     The  Emperor,  it  is  true, 
Hath  dealt  with  me  amiss ;  and  if  I  u:ould, 
i  could  repay  him  with  usurious  interest 
For  the  evil  he  hath  done  me.     It  delights  me 
To  know  mv  power;  but  whether  I  shall  use  it, 
Of  that,  I  should  have  thought  that  thou  couldst  speak 
No  wiser  than  thy  fellows. 

TERZKT. 

So  hast  thou  always  played  thy  game  vrith  us. 

[Enter  Illo. 

Scene  VI. 
Illo,  Wallensteix,  Terzkt. 
walt.ekstein. 
How  Stand  affairs  without  ?    Are  they  prepared^ 

ILLO. 

You'll  fmd  them  in  the  very  mood  you  wish 
They  know  about  the  Emperor's  requisitions, 
And  are  tumultuous. 

WALLENSTEIX. 

How  hath  Isolani 
Declared  himself  ? 

ILLO. 

He's  yours  both  soul  and  body, 
.     Since  you  built  up  again  his  Faro-bank. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And  which  way  doth  Kolatto  bend?     Hast  thou 
Made  sure  of  Tiefenbach  and  Deodati  ? 

ILLO. 

What  riccolomini  does,  that  they  do  too. 


78  THE  PICCOLOMIKI.  [ACT   IJ. 

WALLEN  STEIN. 

You  mean,  then,  I  may  venture  some-wliat  wiih  them  ? 

ILLO. 

— If  you  are  assured  of  the  Piccolomim. 

WALLEN8TEIN. 

Not  more  assured  of  mine  own  self. 

TERZKY. 

And  yst 
I  woald  you  trusted  not  so  much  to  Octavio, 
The  fox ! 

WALLENSTEIK. 

Thou  teachest  me  to  know  my  man  ? 
Sixteen  campaigns  I  have  made  with  that  old  warrior. 
Besides,  I  have  his  horoscope  • 
We  both  are  born  beneath  the  like  otars — in  short, 

[With  an  air  of  jiiyaten 
To  this  belongs  its  own  peculiar  aspect, 
If  therefore  thou  canst  waiTant  me  the  rest 

ILLO 

There  is  among  them  all  but  this  one  voice, 
You  must  not  lay  down  the  command.     I  hear 
They  mean  to  send  a  deputation  to  you. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

If  I'm  in  aught  to  bind  myself  to  them, 
They  too  must  bind  themselves  to  me 

ILLO. 

Of  course. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Their  words  of  honour  they  must  give,  their  oaths, 
Give  them  in  writing  to  me,  promising 
Devotion  to  my  service  unconditional, 

ILLO 

Why  not  ? 

TERZr\' 

Devotion  unconditional? 
The  exception  of  their  duties  towards  Au?.Li-ia 
They'll  always  place  among  the  premises. 
With  this  reser>-e 


SC,  Vl.J  THE  PICCOLOMINI,  79 

WALLENSTEIN  [shaking  his  head.) 
All  unconditional 
No  premises,  r.o  reserves. 

ILLO 

A  thought  has  struck  me 
Does  not  Coimt  Terzky  give  us  a  set  banquet 
This  evening  ? 

TERZKY 

Yes  ;  and  all  the  Generals 
Have  been  invited. 

ILLO   {to   WALLENSTEIn). 

Say,  -nill  you  here  fully 
Commission  mc  to  use  my  own  discretion  ? 
I'll  c^ain  for  you  the  Generals'  word  of  honour, 
Even  as  you  wish. 

WALI-EKSTEIN. 

Gain  me  their  signatures  ! 
How  you  come  by  them,  that  is  your  concern. 

ILLO. 

And  if  I  bring  it  to  you,  black  on  white. 
That  all  the  leaders  who  are  present  here  _ 
Give  themselves  up  to  you,  without  condition  ; 
Say,  will  you  then— then  will  you  show  yourself 
In  earnest,  and  with  some  decisive  action 
Try  your  fortune 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Get  but  the  signatures  ! 

[^  ILLO. 

Think  what  thoa  dcst,  thou  canst  not  execute 

Tlie  Emperor's  orders,  nor  reduce  thine  army; 

Kor  send  the  regiments  to  the  Spaniards'  aid, 

Unless  thou  wouldst  resign  thy  power  for  ever. 

Think  on  the  other  hand — thou  canst  not  spurn 

The  Emperor's  high  commands  and  solemn  orders, 

Nor  longer  temporize,  nor  seek  evasion. 

Wouldst  thou  avoid  a  rupture  with  the  court. 

Resolve  then  !     "Wilt  thou  now  by  one  bold  a,-5t 

Anticipate  their  ends,  or  doubting  still,  ^  ■     ^^^ 

Av/ait  the  extremity?  ^    .,^    .1.^ 


80  THE   PICCOLOMINI.  [aOT  IL 

WALLENSTEIN. 

There's  time  before 
The  eAireinity  arrives.] 

ILLO. 

Seize,  seize  the  hour, 
Ere  it  slips  from  you.     Seldom  comes  the  moment 
In  life,  which  is  indeed  sublime  aud  weighty. 
To  make  a  great  decision  possible, 
O  !  many  things,  all  transient  and  all  rapid. 
Must  meet  at  once  :  and,  liai^iy,  they  thus  met 
May  by  that  confluence  bo  enforced  to  pause 
Time  long  enough  for  wisdom,  though  too  short. 
Far,  far  too  short  a  time  for  doubt  and  scruple  ! 
This  is  that  moment.     See,  our  army  chieftains, 
Our  best,  our  noblest,  are  assembled  round  you 
Their  Idng  like  leader !     On  your  nod  they  wait. 
The  single  threads,  wliich  here  your  prosperous  fortune 
Hath  woven  together  in  one  potent  web 
Instinct  with  destiny,  O  let  them  not  _ 
Unravel  of  themselves.     If  you  permit 
These  chiefs  to  separate,  so  unanimous 
Bring  you  them  not  a  second  time  together. 
'Tis  the  high  tide  that  heaves  the  stranded  ship. 
And  every  individual's  spirit  waxes 
In  the  great  stream  of  multitudes.     Behold 
They  ire  still  here,  here  still !     But  soon  the  war 
Bursts  them  once  more  asunder,  and  in  small 
Particular  anxieties  and  -.nterests 
Scatters  their  spirit,  and  the  sympathy 
Of  each  man  with  the  whole.     He,  who  to-day 
Forgets  himself,  forced  onward  with  the  stream, 
Will  become  sober,  seeing  but  himself. 
Feel  only  his  own  weakness,  and  with  speed 
Will  face  about,  and  march  on  in  the  old 
High  road  of  duty,  the  old  broad-trodden  road, 
Aud  seek  but  to  make  shelter  in  good  plight. 

WALLENSTEIN 

The  time  is  not  yet  come 

TERZKY 

So  }-ou  say  always. 
But  uhen  will  it  be  time? 


60.  V7.j  I'llE   PICCOLOMliNI.  81 

WAfXENSTKlN 

When  I  shall  say  it 
:llo 
Youll  wail  upon  the  stars,  and  on  their  hourd. 
Till  the  earthly  hour  escapes  you.     0,  believe  me, 
In  your  own  bosom  are  your  destiny's  stars. 
Confidence  in  yourself,  prompt  resolution, 
This  is  your  Venus  !  and  the  sole  malignant, 
The  only  one  that  harmeth  you,  is  Doubt. 

WALLENSTEIX. 

Thou  speakest  as  thou  understand'st.     How  oft 
And  many  a  time  I've  told  thee,  Jupiter, 
That  lustrous  god,  was  setting  at  thy  birth 
Thy  visual  power  subdues  no  mysteries ; 
Mole-eyed,  thou  mayest  but  burrow  in  the  earth. 
Blind  as  that  subterrestrial,  who  with^wan 
Lead-colour 'd  shine  lighted  thee  into  life. 
The  common,  the  terrestrial,  thou  mayest  see. 
With  serviceable  cunning  knit  together 
The  nearest  with  the  nearest ;  and  therein 
I  trust  thee  and  believe  thee  !  but  whate'er 
Full  of  mysterious  import  Nature  weaves, 
And  fashions  in  the  depths — the  spirit's  ladder, 
That  from  this  gross  and  visible  world  of  dust 
Even  to  the  starry  world,  with  thousand  rounds. 
Builds  itself  up  ;  on  which  the  unseen  powers 
Move  up  and  down  on  heavenly  ministries — 
The  circles  in  the  circles,  that  approach 
The  central  sun  with  ever-narrowing  orbit — 
These  see  the  glance  alone,  the  unsealed  eye, 
Of  Jupiter's  glad  children  born  in  lustre. 

[Heu-alks  across  the  Chamber,  then  returns,  and 
staudinrj  still,  jnoceeds 
The  heavenly  constellations  make  not  merely 
The  day  and  nights,  summer  and  spring,  not  merely 
Signify  to  the  husbandman  the  seasons 
of  sowing  and  of  harvest.     Human  action, 
That  is  the  seed  too  of  contingencies, 
Strew'd  on  the  dark  land  of  futurity 
In  hopes  to  reconcile  the  powers  of  fate 
Whence  it  behoves  us  to  seek  out  the  seed-time. 


g2  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  [ACT   11. 

To  Nvatch  the  stars,  select  tbeii  proper  hours, 
And  trace  ^Ith  scarcbhig  eye  the  heavenly  houses, 
Whetner  the  enemy  of  growth  and  thrviug 
Hide  liimself  not.  malignant,  m  his  comer. 
Therefore  permit  me  my  cwi  time      Meanwhile 
Do  you  ycur  part.     As  yet  1  cannot  say 
What,  /'shall  do— only,  give  way  I  vr<A\  tot 
Depose  roc  too  they  shall  not.     On  t'.ieso  points 
You  may  reiy. 

PAGE  {entering). 
My  Lords,  the  Generals 

WAI-LEXSTEIN. 

Let  them  come  in 

[  TERZKY. 

Shall  all  the  chiefs  be  prcscr.t  ? 

WALL  EN  STEIN. 

'Twere  needless.     Both  the  Piccolomini 
Maradas,  Butler,  Forgoetsch,  Deodati, 
Karaffa,  Tsolani— these  may  come. 

[Terzky  goes  oid  ivUh  ihe  Tage 

WALLEKSTEIN   [tO  TLLO). 

Hast  thou  ta  en  heed  that  Qucstcnberg  \Yas  watched  ? 
Had  he  no  means  of  secret  intercourse  ? 

ILLO 

I  have  watched  him  closely— and  he  spoke  with  none 
But  with  Octavio.  3 

Scene  VTI. 
VV\LLENSTEiN,  Terzky,  I  LLC.  —  To  them  enter  Qdesten 
BERG,  Octavio,  and  Max    Piccolomini,  Butler.  Iso 
LANi,  Maradas,  and  three  other  Generals.      Wali .en- 
stein  motions   Questenberg,  xvho  in  consequence  taken 
the  chair   directly  opposite   to  him;   the  others  foiloio, 
arranging  themselves   according  to   their  rank,     I  here 
reigns  a  momentai-y  silence. 

wallenstein. 

I  have  understood, 
Tis  true,  the  sum  and  import,  Questenberg, 
Of  your  instructions.     I  have  weighed  them  well, 
And  formed  my  final,  absolute  resolve  :        x' 


ar^    VTl  T  THE    PICCOLOMINl 

Yet  it  seems  fitting,  that  the  Generals 
Should  hear  the  will  of  the  Emperor  from  your  mouth 
May't  please  you  then  to  open  your  commission 
Before  these  noble  Chieftains  ? 

QUESTENBERG 

I  am  ready 
To  obey  you ;  but  ^^ill  first  entreat  your  Highness, 
And  all  these  noble  Chieftains,  to  consider, 
The  Imperial  dignity  and  sovereign  right 
Speaks  from  my  mouth,  and  not  my  ovrn  presumption 

■WALLENSTEIN. 

We  excuse  all  preface. 

QUESTENBERG. 

When  his  Majesty 
The  Emperor  to  his  courageous  armies 
Presented  in  the  person  of  Duke  Friedland 
A  most  experienced  and  renown'd  commandei', 
He  did  it  in  glad  hope  and  confidence 
To  gi\e  thereby  to  the  fortune  of  the  vrar 
A  rapid  and  auspicious  change.     The  onset 
Was  favourable  to  his  royal  v.-i3hes. 
Bohemia  was  delivered  from  the  Saxons, 
The  Swede's  career  of  conquest  check'd  !     These  lands 
Began  to  draw  breath  freely  as  Duke  Friedland 
From  all  the  streams  of  Gennany  forced  hither 
The  scattered  armies  of  the  enemy  ;  _ 
Hither  invoked  as  round  on-i  magic  circle 
The  Rhinegrave,  Benihard,  Banner,  Oxenstiern, 
Yea,  and  that  never-conquer'd  King  himself; 
Here  finally,  before  the  eye  of  Xiirnberg, 
The  fearful  game  of  battle  to  decide. 

WALLENSTEIN.  ' 

To  the  point,  so  please  you. 

\_  QUESrENBERG. 

A  new  spirit 
At  once  proclaimed  to  us  the  new  commander. 
No  lonc'er  strove  blind  rage  with  rage  more  blind  ; 
But  in°h'  enlighten'd  field  of  skill  was  shown 
How  fortitude  can  triumph  over  boldness, 
And  scientific  art  outweary  courage. 

g2 


83 


g^  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  '  l^^'"^   I'- 

Tu  vain  tliey  tempt  liim  to  the  fight,  he  only 
Entrenches' him  still  deeper  in  his  hold, 
As  if  to  build  an  everlasthig  fortress. 
At  length  grown  desperate,  now,  the  kuig  resolves 
To  storm  the  camp  and  lead  his  wasted  legions. 
Who  daily  fall  by  famine  and  by  plague, 
To  quicker  deaths  than  hunger  and  disease. 
Through  lines  of  barricades  behind  whose  fence 
Deathlurks  within  a  thousand  mouths  of  fire, 
He  yet  unconquer'd  strives  to  storm  his  way. 
There  was  attack,  and  there  resistance,  such 
As  mortal  eve  had  never  seen  before  : 
llepulsed  at  last  the  lung  withdrew  bis  troops 
From  this  so  murd'rous  field,  and  not  a  foot 
Of  ground  was  gain'd  by  all  that  fearful  slaughter. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Pray  spare  us  these  recitals  from  gazettes, 
Which  we  ourselves  beheld  with  deepest  horror  ] 

QUESTEXBERG. 

In  Niiniberg's  camp  the  Swedish  monarch  left 

His  fame — in  Liitzen's  plains  his  life.     But  who 

Stood  not  astounded,  when  victorious  Friedlaud 

After  this  day  of  triumph,  this  proud  day, 

jNIarch'd  toward  Bohemia  with  the  speed  of  flight, 

And  vanish'd  from  the  theatre  of  war? 

While  the  young  Weimar  hero  *  forced  his  way 

Into  Franconia,  to  the  Danube,  like 

Some  delving  winter-stream,  which,  where  it  rushes. 

Makes  its  own  channel ;  with  such  sudden  speed 

He  marched,  and  now  at  once  'fore  Ilegensliurg 

Stood  to  the  affright  of  all  good  Catholic  Christians 

Then  did  Bavaria's  well-des3rving  Prince 

Entreat  swift  aidance  in  his  extreme  need  ; 

The  Emperor  sends  seven  horsemen  to  Duke  FriedknuL 

Seven  horsemen  couriers  sends  he  with  the  eutrcaiy : 

He  superadds  his  own,  and  supplicates 

Where  as  the  sovereign  lord  he  can  command 

In  vain  his  supplication  !     At  this  moment 

The  Duke  hears  only  his  old  hate  and  grudge, 

•  BemharJ  of  Saxc-"^cimar,  wlio  succeeded  GustoniB  iu  cmiuDAud. 


SC.  VII.]  TUE   nCCOLOMIM.  8^ 

Barters  the  general  good  to  gratify 
Private  revenge— and  so  falls  Regensburg. 

■W  ALLEN  STEIX. 

Max.,  to  what  period  of  the  war  alludes  he  ? 
My  recollection  fails  me  here. 

MAX. 

He  means 
When  wo  were  in  Silesia. 

WALLESSTEIS 

Ay  !  is  it  so  ! 
But  what  had  we  to  do  there  ? 

iUX. 

To  beat  out 
The  Swedes  and  Saxons  from  the  province. 

WALLENSTEIN 

Time; 
In  that  description  which  the  Minister  gave, 
I  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  whole  --^^^^^^.^^^^ 

Well,  but  proceed  a  little. 

QUESTENBERG. 

f  We  hoped  upon  the  Oder  to  regain 

(\niat  on  the  Danube  shamefully  was  lost. 

We  looked  for  deeds  of  all-astounding  grandeur 

Upon  a  theatre  of  war.  on  which 

A  Frledland  led  in  person  to  the  field, 

And  the  famed  rival  of  the  great  Gustavus  _ 

Had  but  a  Thurn  and  Aniheim  to  oppose  him . 

Yet  the  encounter  of  their  mighty  hosts 

Served  but  to  feast  and  entertain  each  other. 

Dur  countrv  groaned  beneath  the  woes  of  war, 

Vet  nought  but  peace  prevail'd  in  Fnedland  s  camp ! 

WALLEKSTEIN. 

Full  manv  a  bloody  strife  is  fought  in  vahi. 
Because  its  vouthful  general  needs  a  vict  ry. 
But  'tis  the  privilege  of  th'  old  commander 
To  spare  the  cost  of  iightmg  useless  uaues 
Alerelv  to  show  ihai  lie  knows  how  to  concper. 
It  would  have  little  helpVl  my  fame  to  boast 
Of  conquest  o'er  an  Araheitn  •,  but  far  moro 


SQ  THE   PICCOLOMIKI  [ACT  II. 

Would  my  forbearance  have  avail'd  my  country, 
Had  I  succeeded  to  dissolve  tli  alliance 
Existing  'twixt  the  Saxon  and  the  Swede 

QUESTENBERG. 

But  you  did  not  succeed,  and  so  commenced 

The  fearful  strife  anew.     And  here  at  length^ 

]U5side  the  river  Oder  did  the  Duke 

Assert  his  ancient  fame      Upon  the  fields 

Of  Steinau  did  the  Swedes  lay  down  their  arms. 

Subdued  without  a  blow      And  here,  with  others, 

The  righteousness  of  Heaven  to  his  avenger 

Deliver'd  that  long-practised  stirrer-up 

Of  insurrection,  that  curse-laden  torch 

And  kindler  of  this  war,  Matthias  Thurn 

But  he  had  fallen  into  magnanimous  hands  ; 

Instead  of  punishment  he  found  reward. 

And  with  rich  presents  did  the  Duke  dismiss 

The  arch-foe  of  his  Emperor. 

WALLENSTEIN    [htur/hs). 

I  know, 
I  know  you  had  already  in  Vienna 
Your  windows  and  your  balconies  forestall'd 
To  see  hi'm  on  the  executioner's  cart. 
I  might  have  lost  the  battle,  lost  it  too 
With  infamy,  and  still  retahi'd  your  graces — 
But,  to  have  cheated  them  of  a  spectacle, 
Oh  !  that  the  good  folks  of  Vienna  never, 
No,  never  can  forgive  me  ! 

QUESTENBEUG 

So  Silesia 
Was  freed,  and  all  things  loudly  called  the  Duke 
Into  Bavaria,  now  press'd  hard  on  all  sides. 
And  he  did  put  his  troops  in  motion  :  slowly, 
Quite  at  his  case,  and  by  the  longest  road 
He  traverses  Bohemia  ;  but  ere  ever 
He  hath  once  seen  the  enemy,  faces  round, 
Breaks  up  the  march,  and  takes  to  winter  qv.artjrs. 

WAl.EEN'STEIJT. 

The  troops  were  pitiably  destitute 
Of  every  necessary,  every  comfort. 


SC.yil.]  THE   PICCOLOMINI.  ^' 

The  ^vinter  came.     What  thiuks  his  IMajesty 

His  troops  are  made  of?     Arn't  ^ve  men ?  subjected 

Like  oilier  men  to  wet,  and  cold,  and  all 

The  circumstances  of  necessity  ? 

O  miserable  lot  of  the  poor  soldier  '. 

Wherever  he  comes  in,  all  flee  before  him, 

And  when  he  goes  away,  the  general  curse  _ 

Follows  him  on  his  route.     All  must  be  seized. 

Nothing  is  given  liim.     And  compell  d  to  seizo 

From  e°v ery  man,  he's  every  man's  abhorrence. 

Behold,  here  stand  my  Generals.     Karafiii 

Count  Deodati !  Butler !  Tell  this  man 

How  long  the  soldier's  pay  is  in  arrears. 

BUTLEE 

Already  a  full  year. 

WALLENSTEIK. 

And  'tis  the  hire 
That  constitutes  the  hireling's  name  and  duties, 
The  soldier's  i^i/  is  the  soldier's  covenant  *. 

QUESTENBERG. 

Ah !  this  is  a  far  other  tone  from  that. 

In  which  the  Duke  spoke  eight,  nine  years  ago 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Yes !  'tis  my  fault,  I  know  it :  T  myself 
Have  spoilt^he  Emperor  by  indulging  him. 
Nine  years  ago,  during  the  Danish  war, 
I  raised  him  up  a  force,  a  mighty  force,  _ 
Forty  or  fifty  thousand  men,  that  cost  him 
Of  h'is  own  purse  no  doit.     Through  Saxony 
The  fury  goddess  of  the  war  march 'd  on, 
E'en  to  the  surf-rocks  of  the  Baltic,  bearing 
The  terrors  of  his  name*     That  was  a  time  ! 
In  the  wnolc  Imperial  realm  no  name  like  mmo 

•  The  original  is  not  translatable  into  English  j 

Und  sein  Sold 

Muss  dem  SouJaien  werden,  darnach  heisst  er. 
It  might  perhaps  have  been  thus  rendered  : 

And  that  for  which  he  sold  his  services, 
The  soldier  must  receive — 
but  a  false  or  doubtful  etymology  is  no  more  than  a  dull  piin, 


88  THE  PICCOLOMINI  [ACT  II. 

Honour 'd  with  festival  and  celebration- 

And  Albrecht  Wallenstein,  it  was  the  title 

Of  the  third  jewel  in  his  crown  ! 

But  at  the  Diet,  when  the  Princes  met 

At  llcgensburg,  there,  there  the  whole  broke  out. 

There  'twas  kid  open,  there  it  was  made  known. 

Out  of  what  money-bag  I  had  paid  tne  host. 

And  what  were  now  my  thanks,  what  had  1  now. 

That  I,  a  fiiithful  servant  of  the  Sovereign, 

Had  loaded  on  myself  the  people  s  curses, 

And  let  the  Princes  of  the  empire  paf 

The  expenses  of  this  war,  that^ aggrandizes 

The  Emperor  alone.     What  thanks  had  i  ! 

What  ?  1  was  ofTer'd  up  to  their  complaints 

Dismiss'd,  degraded ! 

QUESTENBERCt. 

But  your  Highness  knowE 
What  little  freedom  he  possess'd  of  action 
In  that  disastrous  diet. 

W4LLENSTEIN. 

Death  and  hell ! 
I  had  that  which  could  have  procured  him  freedom^ 
No !  since  'twas  proved  so  inauspicious  to  me 
To  serve  the  Emperor  at  the  empire's  cost,  _ 
I  have  been  taught  far  other  trains  of  thinking 
Of  the  empire,  and  the  diet  of  the  empire. 
From  the  Emperor,  doubtless,  I  received  tnis  staff. 
But  now  I  hold  it  as  the  empire's  general — 
For  the  common  weal,  the  uuivprsal  interest, 
And  no  more  for  that  one  man's  aggrandizement ' 
But  to  the  point.     What  is  it  that's  dosired  of  mc  ? 

QUESTEN'BERG. 

First,  his  Imperial  Majesty  hath  will'd 
That  without  pretexts  of  delay  the  army 
Evacuate  Bohemia. 

WALLENSTEIN 

In  this  season? 
And  to  what  quarter  wills  the  Emporor 
That  wc  direct  our  course  ? 


SC.  VU.]  THE   prCCOLOill^'I. 

QDESTENBERG 

To  the  enemy 
^is  Majesty  resolves,  tliat  Eegensburg 
Be  purified  from  the  enemy  ere  Easter, 
That  Lutheranism  may  be  no  longer  preach "d 
In  that  cathedral,  nor  heretical 
Defilement  desecrate  the  celebration 
Of  that  pure  festival . 

VTALLENSTEIX. 

'yiv  generaU, 


8'J 


Can  this  be  realized  ? 


ILLO. 

'Tis  not  possible. 

BUTLER. 


It  can't  be  realized. 

QUESTENBERG 

The  Emperor 
Already  hath  commanded  colonel  Suys 
To  advance  towards  Bavaria. 

WALLESSTEIK 

What  did  Suys? 

QUESTENBERG 

That  which  his  duty  prompted.     He  advanced 

WAXLEXSTEIX. 

What!  he  advanced?     And  I,  his  general. 
Had  given  him  orders,  peremptory  orders. 
Not  to  desert  his  station  !     Stands  it  thus 
With  my  authority  ?     Is  this  the  obedience 
Due  to  my  ofTice,  which  being  thrown  aside. 
Xo  war  can  be  conducted  ?     Chieftains,  speiik . 
You  be  the  judges,  generals !     What  desen'cs 
That  officer  who,  of  his  oath  neglectful, 
Is  guilty  of  contempt  of  orders  ? 

ILLO. 

Death. 
»Ar.T.ESSTEiN  {rais'uirf  his  voice,  as  all  hut  illo  had  remained 
silent  and  seemingly  scrupulous). 
Count  Piccolomini !  what  has  he  deserved  ? 


,jQ  THE   nCCOLOMlNL  [act  II. 

lOAX.  piccoLOMiNi  {after  a  Jov'j  pause). 
According  to  the  letter  of  the  law, 
Death. 

TSOTANI. 

Death. 

BUTLER. 

Death,  by  the  laws  cf  war. 
[QuESTESBERG  vises  froiii  his  sertf,  WAiXENSiEis/yJ/ctti 
aU  the  rest  rise. 

WALLEKSTEIN. 

To  this  the  law  condemns  him,  and  not  I. 
And  if  I  show  him  favour,  'twill  ansa 
From  the  reverence  that  I  owe  my  Emperor. 

QUESTENBERG. 

If  SO,  I  can  say  nothing  iaviher— here  ! 

WALLEXSTEIN. 

r  acceijted  the  command  but  on  conditions  : 

And  this  the  first,  that  to  the  diminution 

Of  my  authority  no  human  being, 

Not  even  the  Emperor's  self,  should  be  entitlo- 

To  do  aught,  or  to  say  aught,  with  the  army 

If  I  stand  warranter  of  the  event, 

Placing  my  honour  and  my  head  in  pledge, 

Xeeds'must  I  have  full  mastery  in  all 

The  means  thereto.     What  render'd  this  GuslavuB 

Jlesistless,  and  unconquer'd  upon  earth? 

Xhis — that  he  was  the  monarch  in  his  army ! 

A  monarch,  one  who  is  hideed  a  monarch. 

Was  never  vet  subdued  but  by  his  equal. 
But  to  the  point !     Tb  -.  best  is  yet  to  come 

Attend  now,  generals  I 

0-;estenberg. 

The  Prince  Cardinal 
Begins  his  route  at  the  approach  of  spring 
iM-om  the  ^lilancsc ;  and  leads  a  Spanish  army 
Through  Germany  into  the  Netherlands. 
That  he  may  march  secure  and  unimpeded, 
'Tis  the  Emperor's  will  you  grant  him  a  dciachment 
Of  eight  horse-regimeuts  from  the  army  here 


SC.  VII.1  THE    PICCOLOMINl  91 

WALLENSTEIN". 

Yes,  yes  '.  I  understand  1— Eight  regiments .'     Well, 
Iligbt  well  concerted,  father  Lamormain  ! 
Eight  thousand  horse  1     Yes,  yes  !  "tis  as  it  should  be ' 
I  see  it  coming. 

QUESTEXBEKG. 

There  is  nothing  coming. 
\11  stands  in  front :  the  counsel  of  state-prudence, 
The  dictate  of  necessity  ! 

WA.LLEN3TEI.S. 

'nV  hat  then '? 
What,  mv  Lord  Envoy  ?     May  I  not  be  suffer'd 
To  understand,  that  folks  are  tired  of  seeing 
The  sword's  hilt  in  my  grasp  ;  and  that  your  court 
Snatch  eagerly  at  this  pretence,  and  use 
The  Spanish  title,  to  draha  off  my  forces, 
To  lead  into  the  empire  a  new  army 
Unsubjected  to  my  control?     To  throw  me 
Plumply  aside,—!  am  still  too  powerful  for  you 
To  venture  that.     ]\Iy  stipulation  runs, 
That  all  the  Imperial  forces  shall  obey  me 
Where'er  the  German  is  the  native  language. 
Of  Spanish  troops  and  of  Prince  fai-diuals 
That  take  their  route  as  visitors,  through  the  empire. 
There  stands  no  syllable  in  my  stipulation. 
No  syllable  !     And  so  the  politic  court 
Steals  in  on  tiptoe,  and  creeps  round  behind  it ; 
First  makes  me  weaker,  then  to  be  dispensed  with. 
Till  it  dares  strike  at  length  a  bolder  blow 
And  make  short  work  with  me. 
What  need  of  all  these  crooked  ways,  Lord  Envoy  ? 
Straight-forward,  man  !  his  compact  with  nic  pinches 
The  Emperor.     He  would  that  I  moved  otT! — 
Well :— I  will  gratify  mm  ! 

[Here  there  commences  an  aijitalhn  avion j  the  Oaieral<, 
which  increases  continually. 
It  grieves  me  for  my  noble  oUicerb'  sokes  ! 
I  sec  not  yet,  by  what  means  they  will  cojne  at 
The  moneys  thay  have  advanced,  or  how  obtain 
llie  recompense  their  services  demand. 


92  THE  riccoLOMiNi.  [act  11. 

Still  a  new  leader  brings  new  claimants  forward, 

And  prior  merit  superannuates  quickly. 

There  sen-e  here  many  foreigners  in  the  army, 

And  were  the  man  in  all  else  brave  and  gallant, 

I  was  not  wont  to  make  nice  scrutiny 

After  his  pedigree  or  catechism. 

This  will  be  otherwise,  i'  the  time  to  come. 

Well— me  no  longer  it  concerns.  [He  seats  liwiselj 

MAX.    inCCOLOMlKI. 

Forbid  it,  Heaven,  that  it  should  come  to  this  ! 
Our  ti-oops  will  swell  in  dreadful  fermentatioia — 
The  Emperor  is  abused— it  cannot  be. 

ISOLAXI. 

It  cannot  be  ;  all  goes  to  instant  wreck. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Thou  hast  said  truly,  faithful  Isolani ! 
What  we  with  toil  and  foresight  have  built  up, 
Will  go  to  wreck — all  go  to  instant  wreck. 
What  then  ?     Another  chieftain  is  soon  found, 
Another  army  likewise  (who  dares  doubt  it  ?) 
Will  flock  from  all  sides  to  the  Emperor, 
At  the  first  beat  of  his  recruiting  drum. 

[During  this  speech,  Isou^ni,  Terzky,  Illo,  and  Maka- 
DAS  talk  confusedbj  u-ith  great  agitation. 

MAX.  piccoLOJiiNi  {busily  and  j^assionatehj  going  from  one  to 
another,  and  soothing  thevi). 
Hear,  my  commander  !  Hear  me,  generals  ! 
Let  me  conjure  you,  Duke !     Determine  nothing, 
Till  we  have  met  and  represented  to  you 
Our  joint  remonstrances. — Nay,  calmer!   Friends! 
1  hope  all  may  yet  be  set  right  again. 

TRBZKT- 

Away !  let  us  away  !  in  the  antechamber 

Find  we  the  otliera  [2'% 

BUTLER   [to    QUESTENBERG). 

If  good  comisel  giun 
Due  audience  from  your  wisdom,  my  Lord  Envoy  ? 
You  will  be  cautious  how  you  show  yourself. 


Q,3 

SC.   VII.]  THE   nccOLOMINI. 

In  DuLlic  for  some  hours  to  come— or  Imrdly 

Win  t  nt  cold  key  protect  you  from  mal-treatment. 

AVill  that  goia  Ke)  i  ^^,^,„^,,^^jjo„s  heard  from  ivUhout 

'WATXE>' STEIN. 

A  salutary  counsel Thou   Octavio  : 

Wilt  answer  for  the  safety  of  our  guest 

Fare^Yell,  Von  Questenberg  !  .  , 

[QUESTENBERG  tS  al'OUt  tO  SpCUK 

Nay,  not  a  word. 
Not  one  word  more  of  that  detested  subject ! 
You  have  perform'd  your  duty-We  know  ho^v 
To  separate  the  office  ii'om  the  man. 

\As  QuESTENBEKG  IS  goimj  off  with  Octavio    C^OETZ^ 
^   TiEFENBACii,  Kou^TTO,  press  in  ;  several  other  Generals 
j'oUowbuj  them. 

GOETZ. 

Where's  he  who  means  to  rob  us  of  our  general? 

TiEFENBACH  {at  the  same  time,. 
What  arc  we  forced  to  hear  ?     That  thou  mlt  leave  us  ? 

KOLATTO  (at  the  same  time). 
We  ^vill  live  with  thee,  we  will  die  with  thee. 

WALLEKSTEiN  {icith  stateliness,  and  pointing  to  illo). 
There  '  the  Field-Marshal  knows  our  will.  _    Lf-»«- 

'[While  all  are  going  off  the  stage,  the  curtain  drops 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. 
A  small  Cliamher. 
Illo  and  Terzo. 

TERZKY. 

New  for  this  Gvenhig's  business !     How  intend  you 
To  manage  with  the  generals  at  the  banquet? 

IIXO. 

Attend!     We  frame  a  formal  declaration, 
Wherein  we  to  the  Duke  consign  ourselves 
Collectively,  to  be  and  to  remain 
Sis  both  with  life  and  limb,  and  not  to  spare 
The  last  drop  of  our  blood  for  him,  provided 


04  THE   PrCCOLOMINI.  [aCT  111. 

So  doing  we  infringe  no  oath  or  duty 

Wc  may  be  under  to  the  Emperor. — Mark ! 

This  reservation  wc  expressly  make 

In  a  particular  clause,  and  save  the  conscience. 

Now  bear!  this  formula  so  framed  and  worded 

Will  bo  presented  to  them  for  perusal 

Before  the  l)anquct.     No  one  will  find  in  it 

Cause  of  offence  or  scruple.     Hear  now  further  I 

After  the  feast,  when  now  the  vap'ring  wine 

Opens  the  heart,  and  shuts  the  eyes,  wo  let 

A  counterfeited  paper,  in  the  whieli 

This  one  particular  clause  has  been  left  out, 

Go  round  for  signatures. 

TEEZKY. 

How !  think  you  then 
That  they'll  believe  themselves  bound  by  an  oath, 
Which  we  have  trick'd  them  into  by  a  juggle? 

I  LLC. 

We  shall  have  caught  and  caged  them  !     Let  them  then 
Beat  their  wings  bare  against  the  wires,  and  rave 
Loud  as  they  may  against  our  treachery ; 
At  court  their  signatures  will  be  believed 
Far  more  than  their  most  holy  affirmations. 
Traitors  they  are,  and  must  be ;  therefore  wisely 
Will  make  a  virtue  of  necessity 

TF.RZKT. 

Well,  well,  it  shall  content  me ;  let  but  something 
Be  done,  let  only  some  decisive  blow 
Set  us  in  motion. 

ILLO. 

Besides,  'tis  of  subordinate  importance 
How,  or  how  far,  we  may  thereby  propel 
The  generals.     'Tis  enough  that  we  persuade 
The  Duke  that  they  arc  his. — Let  him  but  act 
In  his  determined  mood,  as  if  he  had  them, 
And  he  xvill  have  them.     Where  he  plunges  in, 
He  makes  a  whirlpool,  and  all  stream  down  to  it. 

TERZKY. 

His  policy  is  such  a  labyrinth. 

That  many  a  lime  when  I  have  thought  myself 


SC.  I.]  THE   P;CCOLOMI>iI. 

Close  at  his  side,  he's  gone  at  once,  and  left  me 
Ignorant  of  the  ground  where  I  was  standing. 
He  lends  the  enemy  his  ear,  permits  me 
To  write  to  them,  to  Arnheim ;  to  Sesina  _ 
Plimsclf  comes  forward  blank  and  undisguised- 
Tall<.s  with  ns  by  the  hour  about  his  plans. 
And  when  I  think  I  have  him— off  at  once— 
He  has  slipp'd  from  me,  and  appears  as  if 
He  had  no  scheme,  but  to  retain  his  place. 

ILLO. 

He  give  up  his  old  plans  !  I'll  tell  you,  friend' 

His  soul  is  occupied  with  nothing  else, 

Even  in  his  sleep— They  are  his  thoughts,  his  dreams. 

That  day  by  day  he  questions  for  this  purpose 

The  motions  of  the  planets 

TERZKY. 

Ay  I  you  know 
This  night,  that  is  now  coming,  he  with  Seni 
Shuts  himself  up  in  the  astrological  tower 
To  make  joint  observations — for  I  hear 
It  is  to  be  a  night  of  weight  and  crisis ; 
And  something  great,  and  of  long  expectation, 
Takes  place  in  heav'n. 

I"  ILLO. 

0  that  it  might  take  place 
On  earth !     The  generals  are  full  of  zeal. 
And  would  with  ease  be  led  to  any  thing, 
Ptather  than  lose  their  chief.     Observe,  too,  that 
We  have  at  last  a  fair  excuse  before  us. 
To  form  a  close  alliance  'gainst  the  court, 
Yet  innocent  its  title,  bearing  simply 
That  we  support  him  only  in  command. 
But  in  the  ardour  of  pursuit  tliou  know'st 
Men  soon  forget  the  goal  from  which  diey  started. 
The  object  I've  in  view  is  that  the  Pruice 
Shall  either  (ind  them,  or  believe  them  ready 
For  every  hazard.     Opportunity 
Will  tempt  him  on.     Be  the  great  step  once  Uikeu, 
Which  at  Vienna's  Court  can  ne'er  be  pardon'd, 
The  force  of  circumstance  will  lead  him  onward 
The  farther  still  and  farther      'Tis  the  choicp 


95 


96  THE  piccoioMiM.  [act  lit. 

That  makes  him  imdecisivc  ; — come  but  need 
And  all  his  powers  and  wisdom  will  come  witt  it. 

TERZKT. 

Tis  this  alone  the  enemy  awaj^;s 

To  change  their  chief  and  join  their  force  \nth  ours. "] 

ILLO. 

Come !  be  we  bold  and  make  despatch.     The  work 

In  this  next  day  or  two  must  thrive  and  grow 

More  than  it  has  for  years.     And  let  but  only 

Things  first  turn  up  auspicious  here  below — 

]\lark  what  I  say — the  right  stars,  too,  will  show  diomselves. 

Come  to  the  generals.     All  is  in  the  glow, 

And  must  be  beaten  while  'tis  malleable. 

TERZKY. 

Do  you  go  thither,  Illo.     I  must  stay 
And  wait  here  for  the  Countess  Terzky.     Know 
That  wc.  too,  are  not  idle.     Break  one  string, 
A  second  is  in  readiness 

ILLO. 

Yes !  yes ! 
1  saw  your  lady  smile  with  such  sly  meaning. 
What's  in  the  wind? 

TERZKT. 

A  secret.     Hush !  she  comes. 

[Exit  Illo 

Scene  II. 

{The  Countess  steps  out  from  a  Closet. 

CoDNT  and  Countess  Terzky. 

TERZKY. 

Well — is  she  coming  ?  I  can  keep  him  back 
No  longer. 

COUNTESS. 

Slie  will  be  here  instiintly, 
Yo^  only  send  him. 

TERZKY. 

1  am  not  quite  certaiu 
1  must  confess  it,  Countess,  whether  or  not 
We  are  earning  the  Duke's  thanks  hereby.     You  kaj\v> 
No  ray  has  broke  out  from  him  on  this  point. 
You  have  o'eniiled  mc,  and  yourself  know  best 
Ilow  far  you  dare  proceed. 


SC.  II.] 


TEE    PICCOI.OMINl 


97 


COUNTESS. 

I  take  it  on  me. 
[Talking  to  herself  ichile  she  is  advancing. 
Here's  no  need  of  full  powers  and  commissions — 
My  cloudy  Duke !  we  understand  each  other — 
And  without  words.     What,  could  I  not  unriddle, 
Wherefore  the  daughter  should  be  sent  for  hither. 
Why  first  he,  and  no  other,  should  be  chosen 
To  fetch  her  hither?     This  sham  of  betrothing  her 
To  a  bridegroom  *,  whom  no  one  knows — No  !  no  1 — 
This  may  blind  others !  I  see  through  thee,  Brother ! 
But  it  beseems  thee  not,  to  draw  a  card 
At  such  a  game.     Not  yet ! — It  all  remains 

Mutely  delivered  up  to  my  finessing 

Well— thou  shaltjiot  have  been  deceived,  Duke  Friedland^ 

In  her  who  is  thy  sister. 

SERVANT- (e?it^rs). 

The  Commanders!  [Exit. 

TEEZKY  (to  the  countess). 
Take  care  you  heat  his  fancy  and  affections — 
Possess  him  with  a  reverie,  and  send  him. 
Absent  and  dreaming  to  the  banquet ;  that 
He  may  not  boggle  at  the  signature. 

COUNTESS. 

Take  you  care  of  your  guests !— Go,  send  him  hither. 

TEKZKY. 

All  rests  upon  his  undersigning 

COUNTESS  [interrupting  him). 

Go  to  your  guests !  Go 

ILLO  {comes  back). 

Where  art  staying,  Terzky  ? 
The  house  is  full,  and  all  expecting  you. 

TEUZKY 

Instantly!  instantly!  [To  </ie  Countess. 

And  let  liim  not 
Stay  here  too  long.     It  might  awaive  suspicion 
In  the  old  man 

*  In  Germany,  after  honounible  addresses  have  been  paid  and  formally 
accepted,  the  lovers  are  called  Bride  and  Bridegroom,  even  tlicugh  the  uiar- 
ria/e  should  not  take  place  till  years  after tt'ai-ds. 

H 


98 


THE   PICCOLOMINI.  [ACT  III. 

COUNTESS 

A  truce  with  your  precautions  1 

[Exeunt  Teuzky  and  Ili.o. 

Scene  III. 
Countess,  Max.  PiCGDLO;r.Ni. 
MAX  ipeepbifj  in  on  the  stage  d'dy). 
Aunt  Terzlvy  !  may  I  venture? 

[Advances  to  the  middle  of  the  stage,  and  looks  arouni 
him  ivith  uneasiness. 

She's  not  hero ! 

Where  '.s  she  ? 

COUNTESS. 

Look  but  somewhat  narrowly 
In  yonder  ccnier,  lest  perhaps  she  lie 
Conceal'd  beh'.nd  that  screen. 

MAX. 

There  He  her  gloves ! 
[Snatches  at  them,  hut  the  Countess  takes  them  herself. 
You  unkhid  Lady !  You  refuse  me  this— 
You  make  it  an  amusement  to  torment  me. 

countess. 
And  this  the  thanks  yoa  give  me  for  my  trouble? 

MAX. 

0,  if  you  felt  the  oppression  at  my  heart ! 
Since  we've  been  here,  so  to  constrain  myself— 
With  such  poor  stealth  to  hazard  words  and  glances— 
These,  tliese  are  not  my  habits ! 

countess. 

You  have  still 
Manv  new  habits  to  acquire,  young  friend ! 
But  on  this  proof  of  your  obedient  temper 
I  must  continue  to  insist ;  and  only 
On  this  condition  can  I  play  the  agent 
For  your  concerns. 

MAX. 

But  wherefore  comes  she  not? 
Where  is  she  ? 


SC,  III.]  THE    PICCOLOMINI. 

COUXTF.SS 

Into  7nji  hands  jou  must  place  it 
Whole  and  entire.     Whom  could  yoa  find,  indeed. 
More  zealously  affected  to  your  interest'^ 
No  soul  on  earth  must  know  it — not  your  father 
He  must  not,  above  all. 

MxVX. 

Alas  !  what  dar.gev '' 
Here  is  no  face  on  which  I  might  concentre 
All  the  enraptured  soul  stirs  up  within  me. 

0  Lady !  tell  me,  is  all  changed  around  me  ? 
Or  is  it  only  I  ? 

I  find  myself, 
As  among  strangers  !     Not  a  trace  is  left 
Of  all  my  former  wishes,  former  joys. 
Where  has  it  vanish 'd  to  ?     There  was  a  time 
"\\n'ien  even,  methought,  with  such  a  world  as  this. 

1  was  not  discontented.     Now  how  flat ! 

How  stale  !     No  life,  no  bloom,  no  flavour  in  it? 

Mv  comrades  are  intolerable  to  me. 

My  iiither — Even  to  him  I  can  say  nothing. 

My  arms,  my  military  duties — 0  ! 

They  are  such  weai'ving  toys  I 

COUNTESS. 

But.  gentle  friend ! 
I  must  entreat  it  of  your  condescensiou. 
You  would  be  pleased  to  sink  your  eye,  and  favour 
Vvith  one  short  glance  or  two  this  poor  stale  world. 
Where  even  now  much,  and  of  much  moment, 
Is  on  the  eve  of  its  completioii. 

■MiVX. 

Something, 
C  can't  but  know  is  going  forward  round  me. 
I  see  it  gathering,  crowding,  driving  on. 
In  -wild  uncustomary  movements.     Well, 
In  due  time,  doubtless,  it  will  reach  even  me 
Where  think  you  I  have  been,  dear  Lady?    Nay- 
No  riulleiy.     The  turmoil  of  tlie  camp, 
The  spring-tide  of  acquaintance  rolling  in, 
The  nointlcss  jest,  the  empty  conversation, 

u  2 


99 


100  THE    nCCOLOMINI.  [aCT  lit. 

Oppress'^  and  stifled  me.     I  gasp'd  for  air— 

I  could  !iot  breathe— I  was  constniin'd  to  liy, 

To  seek  a  silence  out  for  my  full  heart ; 

And  a  pure  spot  wherein  to  feel  my  happiness 

Ko  smilmg,  Countess!     In  the  church  was  I. 

There  is  a  cloister  here  "  To  the  heaven's  gite,"* 

Thither  I  went,  there  found  myself  alone. 

Over  the  altar  hung  a  holy  mother ; 

A  wretched  painting  'twas,  yet  'twas  the  friend 

That  T  was  seeking  in  this  moment.     Ah, 

How  oft  have  I  beheld  that  glorious  form 

In  splendour,  'mid  ecstatic  worshippers ; 

Yet,  still  it  moved  me  not !  and  now  at  once 

Was  my  devotion  cloudless  as  my  love. 

COUNTESS 

Enjoy  your  fortune  and  felicity ! 

Forget  the  world  around  you.     Meantime,  friendship 

Shall  keep  strict  vigils  for  you,  anxious,  active. 

Only  be  manageable  when  that  friendship 

Points  you  the  road  to  full  accomplishment. 

But  where  abides  she  then  ?     Oh  golden  time 
Of  travel,  when  each  morning  sun  united 
And  but  the  coming  night  divided  us ; 
Then  ran  no  sand,  then  struck  no  hour  for  us, 
And  Time,  in  our  excess  of  happiness. 
Seemed  on  its  course  eternal  to  stand  still. 
Oh,  he  hath  fallen  from  out  his  heaven  of  bliss 
Who  can  descend  to  count  the  changing  hours, 
No  clock  strikes  ever  for  the  happy  !] 

COUN'TESS. 

How  long  is  it  since  you  declared  your  passion  ? 

MAX. 

This  morning  did  I  hazard  the  first  word. 

COUNTESS. 

This  morning  the  firsf,  time  in  twenty  days  ? 

•  I  am  doubtful  whether  this  be  the  dedication  of  the  cloister,  or  the  name 
of  one  of  the  citv  gates,  near  which  it  stood.  I  have  translated  it  in  the 
former  sense  ;  but  fearful  of  having  made  some  blundei^  I  add  the  ongioal.— 
Ss  ist  ein  Kloster  hicr  zur  UimmdspforU. 


9C.  III.] 


THE  PICCOLOMt!!!. 


101 


MIX. 

Twas  at  that  hunting-castle,  betwixt  here 

And  Neporauck,  where  you  had  join'd  us,  and— 

That  was  the  last  relay  of  the  whole  journey ; 

In  a  balcony  we  were  standing  mute, 

And  gazing  out  upon  the  dreary  field : 

Before  us  the  dragoons  were  riding  onward, 

The  safe-guard  which  the  Duke  had  sent  us — ^hca\y 

Tlie  inquietude  of  parting  lay  upon  me, 

And  trembling  ventured  I  at  length  these  words: 

This  all  reminds  me,  noble  maiden,  that 

To-day  I  must  take  leave  of  my  good  fortune 

A  few"^  hours  more,  and  you  will  find  a  father, 

AVill  see  yourself  surrounded  by  new  friends. 

And  I  henceforth  shall  be  but  as  a  stranger, 

Lost  in  the  many  —  "  Speak  with  my  aunt  Terzky!" 

With  hurrying  voice  she  interrupted  me. 

She  faher'd.     I  beheld  a  glowing  red 

Possess  her  beautiful  cheeks,  and  from  the  ground 

Eaised  slowly  up  her  eye  met  mine — no  longer 

Did  I  control  myself. 

[The  Princess  Thekla  appears  at  the  door,  and  re* 
mains  standing,  observed  hi/  the  Countess,  i»Miof  hy 

PiCCOLOMINI. 

With  instant  boldness 
I  caught  her  in  my  arms,  my  lips  touch'd  hers ; 
There  was  a  nistUng  in  the  room  close  by ; 
It  parted  us — "Twas  you.     What  since  has  happer'd, 
You  know. 
COUNTESS  {after  a  pause,  with  a  stolen  glance  at  thekla). 

And  is  it  your  excess  of  modesty  ; 
Or  are  you  so  incurious,  that  you  do  not 
Ask  me  too  of  my  secret? 

MAX 

Of  your  secret? 

COUNTESS. 

Why,  yes  !     When  in  the  instant  after  you 
I  stepp'd  into  the  room,  and  found  my  niece  there. 
What  she  in  this  first  moment  of  the  heart 
Ta'en  vrith  purprise — 

Mi\x.  {with  eagerness). 
Well? 


102  THE    PICCOLOMIXI.  [-^CT  III. 

Scene  IV. 
T:ny.Ki.AiJinrrlcsforivard),  Countess,  Max.  Piccolomini. 

TiiEKLA  {to  the  countess). 

Spare  yourself  the  trouble : 
That  hears  he  Letter  from  myself. 

-aXK..  [stcpinng  haclavard). 

]\Iy  rrinccss ! 
What  have  you  let  her  hear  me  say,  aunt  TcrzUy  ? 

THEKLA  {to  the  countess). 

Has  lie  been  here  long  ? 

COUNTESS. 

Yes  ;  ar.d  soon  'vU3t  go. 
Where  have  you  stay'd  so  long? 

THEKLA. 

Alas  !  my  molhor 
Wept  so  agam  !  and  I  — I  see  her  suffer, 
Yet  cannot  keep  myself  from  bemg  happy. 

MAX. 

Now  once  again  T  have  courage  to  look  on  you. 
To-day  at  noon  I  could  not. 
The  dazzle  of  the  jewels  that  play'd  round  you 
Hid  the  beloved  from  me. 

THEKLA. 

Then  you  saw  nic 
With  your  eye  only— and  not  with  your  heart? 

MAX. 

This  moniing,  when  I  found  you  in  the  circle 

Of  all  your  kindred,  in  your  father's  arms, 

Beheld  myself  an  alien  in  this  circle, 

0  !  what  an  impulse  felt  I  in  that  moment 

To  fall  upon  his  neck,  to  call  \\m\  father  I 

But  his  stern  eye  o'erpower'd  the  swelling  passion. 

It  dared  not  but  be  silent.     And  those  brilliants. 

That  like  a  crown  of  stars  enwrcathed  your  brows. 

They  scared  me  too !     0  wherefore,  wherefore  sheukl  he 

At  the  first  meeting  spread  as  'twere  the  ban 

Of  excommunication  round  you,— wherefore 

Dress  up  the  angel  as  for  sacrifice. 


g(,    j^-_  THE    PICCOLOMIXI.  ^^^ 

And  cast  upon  the  light  and  joyous  heart 
The  mouniful  burthen  of  Jus  station?     Fitly 
May  love  dare  woo  for  love  ;  but  such  a  splendour 
Might  none  but  monarchs  venture  to  approaclu 

THEKLA 

Hush !  not  a  word  more  of  this  munimeiy ; 
You  see  how  soon  the  burthen  is  thro-vMi  off. 

[To  the  Countess. 

He  is  not  in  spirits.     "Wherefore  is  he  not? 

'Tis  you,  aunt,  that  have  made  him  all  so  gloomy  ! 

He  had  quite  another  nature  on  the  journey — 

So  calm,  so  bright,  so  joyous  eloquent.  L^'^  ^^-^ 

It  was  my  wish  to  see  you  always  so, 

And  never  otherwise ! 

MAX. 

You  find  yourself 
In  your  great  father's  arras,  beloved  lady  ! 
AU  in  a  new  world,  which  does  homage  to  yoa, 
And  which,  were't  only  by  its  novelty 
Delights  your  eye. 

TTTFKTA. 

Yes  ;  I  confess  to  you 
That  many  things  delight  me  here  :  this  camp. 
This  motley  stage  of  warriors,  which  renews 
So  manifold  the  image  of  my  fancy, 
And  binds  to  life,  binds  to  reality, 
What  hitherto  had  but  been  present  to  me 
As  a  sweet  dream  ! 

MAX. 

Alas  !  not  so  to  mo. 
It  makes  a  dream  of  my  reality. 
Upon  some  island  in  the  ethereal  heights 
I've  lived  for  these  last  days.     This  inass  of  men 
Forces  me  down  to  earth.     It  is  a  bridge 
That,  reconducting  to  my  former  life, 
Divides  me  and  my  heaven. 

THEKL\. 

The  game  of  life 
Looks  cheerful,  when  one  carries  in  one's  heart 


10-4  THE    I'lCCOLOMINI.  [ACT  III. 

1  he  unalienable  treasure.     'Tis  a  game, 
Which  having  once  rcvicw'd,  I  turn  more  joyous 
Back  to  my  deeper  and  appropriate  bliss. 

[Breaking  off,  and  in  a  sportive  tone. 
1"  this  short  time  that  I've  been  present  here. 
AYhat  new  unheard-of  things  have  I  not  seen  i 
And  yet  they  all  must  give  place  to  the  ■wonder 
"Which  this  mysterious  castle  guards. 

COUNTESS  [recollecting). 

And  what 
Can  this  be  then  ?  Methought  I  was  acquainted 
With  all  the  dusky  comers  of  this  house. 

TiiEKLA  {smiling). 
Ay,  but  the  road  thereto  is  watch'd  by  spirits, 
Two  gi'iffins  still  stand  sentry  at  the  door. 

COUNTESS  ilaiujhs). 
The  astrological  tower  !— How  happens  it 
That  this  same  sanctuary,  ■whose  access 
Is  to  all  others  so  impracticable, 
Opens  before  you  even  at  your  approach? 

TIIEKLA. 

A  dwarfish  old  man  with  a  friendly  face 

And  snow-white  hairs,  whose  gracious  services 

Were  mine  at  first  sight,  open'd  me  the  doors. 

M.vx. 
That  is  the  Duke's  astrologer,  old  Seni. 

THEKLA. 

He  question 'd  me  on  many  points  ;  for  instance, 
When  I  was  born,  what  month,  and  on  what  day, 
Whether  by  day  or  in  the  night. 

COUNTESS. 

He  wish'd 
To  erect  a  figure  for  your  horoscope. 

TlIEKl.A 

My  hand  too  he  examined,  sliook  his  head 

With  much  sad  meaning,  and  the  lines,  methought, 

Did  not  square  o\er  truly  with  his  wishp^ 


gC.  V.J  THE  riccoLonM.  105 

COUNTESS. 

Well,  Princess,  and  ^\-liat  found  you  in  this  tower? 
My  highest  privilege  has  been  to  snatch 
A  side-glance,  and  away  ! 

THEKLA. 

It  was  a  strange 
Sen&ation  that  came  o'er  me,  when  at  first 
From  the  broad  sunshine  I  stepp'd  in;  and  now 
The  narrowing  line  of  daylight,  that  ran  after 
The  closing  door,  was  gone  ;  and  all  about  me 
'Twas  pale  and  dusky  night,  with  many  shadows 
Fantastically  cast.     Here  si.x:  or  seven 
Colossal  statues,  and  all  kings,  stood  round  me 
In  a  half-circle.     Each  one  in  his  hand 
A  sceptre  bore,  and  on  his  head  a  star  ; 
And  in  the  tower  no  other  light  was  there 
But  from  these  stars  •  all  seem'd  to  come  from  them . 
'•■  These  are  the  planets,"  said  that  low  old  man, 
''  They  govern  worldly  fates,  and  for  that  cause 
Ai-e  imaged  here  as  kings.     He  farthest  from  you. 
Spiteful,  and  cold,  an  old  man  melancholy. 
With  bent  and  yellow  forehead,  he  is  Saturn. 
He  opposite,  the  king  with  the  red  light. 
An  arm'd  man  for  the  battle,  that  is  Mai-s  ; 
And  both  these  bring  but  little  luck  to  man." 
But  at  his  side  a  lovely  lady  stood. 
The  star  upon  her  head  was  soft  and  bright. 
Oh  that  was  Veims,  the  bright  star  of  joy. 
And  the  left  hand,  lo  !  Mercury,  vdxh  wings 
Quite  in  the  middle  glitter'd  silver  bright 
A  cheerful  man,  and  with  a  monarch's  mien ; 
And  this  was  Jupiter,  my  father's  star : 
And  at  his  side  1  saw  the  Sun  and  Moon. 

MAX 

0  never  rudely  will  I  blame  his  faith 

In  the  might  of  stars  and  angels.     'Tis  not  merely 

The  human  being's  Pride  that  peoples  space 

With  life  and  mystical  predominance  ; 

Since  likewise  for  the  stricken  heart  of  Love 

lids  visible  nature,  and  this  common  world, 


lOG 


THE  PICCOLOMIKI.  t^^'T   HI. 


Is  all  too  narrow ;  yea.  a  deeper  import 

Lurks  in  the  legend  told  my  infant  years 

Than  lies  upon  that  truth,  \vc  ine  to  Icarr. 

For  fable  is  Love's  world,  his  home,  his  birth-place ; 

Delightedly  dwells  he  'mong  fays  and  talismans, 

And'spirits  ;  and  delightedly  believes 

Divinities,  behig  himself  divnu; 

The  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets, 

The  fair  humanities  of  old  religion. 

The  Power,  the  Beauty,  and  the  jMajesty, 

That  had  her  haunts  in  dale,  or  piny  inountam, 

Or  forest  by  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  spring,  _ 

Or  chasms,  and  wat'ry  depths  ;  all  these  have  viinishd. 

Thev  live  no  longer  in  the  faith  of  reason  !  _ 

But'still  the  heart  doth  need  a  language,  still 

Doth  the  old  instinct  bring  back  the  old  names. 

And  to  yon  starry  world  they  now  are  gone. 

Snirits  or  gods,  that  used  to  share  this  earth 

With  man  as  with  their  friend*  ;  and  to  the  lover 

Yonder  they  move,  from  yonder  visible  sky 

Shoot  influence  down :  and  even  at  this  day 

Tis  Jupiter  who  brings  whate  er  is  great,    _   ^ 

And  Venus  who  brings  everythhig  that  s  fair . 

THEKLA 

And  if  this  be  the  science  of  the  stars, 

I  too,  with  glad  and  zealous  industry. 

Will  learn  acquaintance  with  this  clieeriul  laitb. 

It  is  a  gentle  and  affectionate  thought, 

That  iirimmeasurable  heights  above  us, 

At  our  first  birth,  the  wreath  of  love  was  woveu, 

With  sparkling  stars  for  flowers. 

COUNTESS 

Xot  only  roses 
But  thorns  too  hath  the  heaven,  and  well  for  you 
Leave  they  your  wreath  of  love  inviolate  : 
What  Venus  twined,  the  bearer  of  glad  fortune, 
rho  sullen  orb  of  Mars  soon  tears  to  pieces. 

•   No  more  of  talk,  where  RoJ  or  ancrcl  giiest 
With  nwn.  as  with  his  friend  familiar,  used 
To  sit  indulgent.  ParachseLost.Ti.  IX. 


107 

gC    y.]  TEE   nCCOLOMIM.  •  ■^"' 

MAX. 

Soon  will  his  gloomv  empire  reach  its  close. 
Blest  be  the  General's  zeal :  into  the  laurel 
Will  he  inweave  the  olive-branch,  presenting 
Peace  to  the  shouting  nations.     Then  no  wish 
Will  have  remain'd  for  his  great  heart !     l^nougti 
Has  he  perform'd  for  glory,  and  can  now 
Live  for  himself  and  his.     To  his  domains 
Will  he  retire ;  he  has  a  stately  seat 
Of  fairest  view  at  Gitschin  ;  Reichcnberg, 
And  Friedland  Castle,  both  lie  pleasantly- 
Even  tx)  the  foot  of  the  huge  mountams  here 
Stretches  the  chase  a^id  covers  of  his  forests : 
His  ruling  passion,  to  create  the  splendid, 
He  can  indulge  without  restraint ;  can  give 
A  princelv  patronage  to  every  art, 
And  to  all  worth  a  Sovereign's  protection. 
Can  build,  can  plant,  can  watch  the  starry  courses 

COUNTESS. 

Yet  I  would  have  you  look,  and  look  again,      ^ 
Before  you  lav  aside  your  arms,  young  friend . 
\  aentle  bride,  as  she  is,  is  well  worth  it. 
That  vou  should  woo  and  win  her  with  the  sword. 

MAX. 

0,  that  the  sword  could  win  her ! 

COUNTESS. 

What  was  that? 
Did  you  hear  notliiug?     Seem'd  as  if  1  heard 
Tumult  and  larum  in  the  banquet-room. 

\h,Xit  (.yOUNTES 

Scene  V. 
Theki^  and  Max.  Piccolomini 
THEKLA  (as  soon  as  the  Countess  is  out  of  s'vjht,  in  a  quick  hic 

voice  to  PICCOLOMINT. 

Don't  trust  them  !     They  are  false  ! 

MAX 

Impossible ! 

TIIEKLA 

Trust  no  one  here  but  me.     I  saw  at  ouce. 
They  had  a^JM/^'Ose. 


108  THE   fICCOLOMINl  [ACT   Itl. 

MAX. 

Piu'pose !  but  what  purpose  ? 
And  how  can  we  be  instrumental  to  it  ? 

THEKLA. 

I  know  no  more  than  you ;  but  yet  believe  me : 
There's  some  design  in  this !  to  make  us  hapoy. 
To  realize  our  union — ti-ust  me,  love ! 
They  but  pretend  to  A\'ish  it. 

M.VX. 

But  these  Tcrzkys— 
Why  use  we  tliem  at  all  ?     Why  not  your  mother? 
Excellent  creature !  she  deserves  from  us 
A  full  and  filial  confidence. 

THEKIA. 

She  doth  love  you, 
Doth  rate  you  high  before  all  others — but — 
But  such  a  secret — she  would  never  have 
The  courage  to  conceal  it  from  my  father. 
For  her  own  peace  of  mind  we  must  preserve  it 
A  secret  from  her  too. 

MAX. 

Why  any  secret  ? 
1  love  not  secrets.     Mark  what  I  will  do. 
I'll  throw  me  at  your  father's  feet — let  him 
Decide  upon  my  fortunes  !     He  is  true, 
He  wears  no  mask— he  hates  all  crooked  ways-— 
Ho  is  so  good,  so  noble  ! 

THEKLA  {falls  on  Jiis  "iieck). 
That  are  you ! 

MAX. 

You  knew  him  only  since  this  morn  !  but  I 
Have  lived  ten  years  already  in  his  presence. 
A.nd  who  knows  whether  in  this  very  moment 
He  is  not  merely  waiting  for  us  both 
To  own  our  loves,  in  order  to  unite  us  ? 
You  are  silent ! — 

You  look  at  me  ^\"ith  such  a  hopelessness ! 
What  have  you  to  object  against  your  father? 

THEKLA. 

I?    Nothing.     Only  he's  so  occupied — 
He  has  no  leisure  time  to  think  about 


SC.  VI. J  THE    PlCCOLOMINI.  109 

The  happiness  of  us  two      [Taking  his  hand  tenderly 

Follow  me ! 
Let  us  not  place  too  great  a  faith  in  men. 
These  Tevzkys— we  will  still  be  grateful  to  them 
For  every  kindness,  but  not  trust  them  further 
Than  they  deserve;— and  in  all  else  rely — 
Onj)ur  o\\ti  hearts ! 

MAX. 

O  !  shall  we  eer  be  happy  ? 

THEKLA. 

Are  we  not  happy  now  ?  Art  thou  not  mine  ? 

Am  I  not  thine  ?  There  lives  within  my  soul 

A  lofty  courage — 'tis  love  gives  it  me  ! 

I  ought  to  be  less  open— ought  to  hide 

My  heart  more  from  thee — so  decorum  dictates : 

But  where  in  this  place  couldst  thou  seek  for  truth 

If  in  my  mouth  thou  didst  not  find  it? 

rWe  no'w  have  met,  then  let  us  hold  each  other 

Clasp'd  in  a  lasting  and  a  firm  embrace. 

Believe  me  this  was  more  than  their  intent. 

Then  be  om-  loves  like  some  blest  relic  kept 

Within  the  deep  recesses  of  the  heart. 

From  Heav'n  alone  the  love  has  been  bestow'd. 

To  Heav'n  alone  our  gratitude  is  due 

It  can  work  wonders  for  us  still.] 

^ScE^■E  VI. 

To  them  enters  the  Countess  Terzkt. 

C0UNTES8  {in  a  jiressing  manner). 

Come,  ccnie  I 
My  husband  sends  me  for  you. — It  is  now 
The  latest  moment. 

[They  not  appearing  to  attend  to  ichat  she  says.,  she  sfq 
between  tJicm. 

Part  you ! 

THEKLA. 

0,  not  yet  I 
It  has  been  scarce  a  moment. 


1^0  THE    PICCOI.OMINI.  {.^^'^  ^"» 

COUNTESS. 

Ay!  Then  tiroo 
Flies  swiftly ^N-itli  your  Highness,  Princess  niece! 

MAX 

There  is  no  hurry,  aunt 

COUNTESS 

A-way!  away! 
The  folks  begin  to  miss  you.    Twice  already 
His  father  has  ask'd  for  him. 

TIIEKLA. 

Ha !  his  father ,' 

COUNTESS. 

You  understand  that,  niece ! 

THEKLA. 

Wiy  needs  he 
To  go  at  all  to  that  society? 
'Tis  not  his  proper  company      They  may 
Be  worthy  men,  but  he's  too  young  for  them 
In  brief,  he  suits  not  such  society. 

COUNTESS. 

You  mean,  you'd  rather  keep  him  wholly  here? 

THEKLA  {icith  energy). 
Yes  '  you  have  hit  it,  aunt !  That  is  my  meaning. 
Leave  him  here  wholly  !  Tell  the  company 

COUNTESS. 

What!  have  you  lost  your  senses,  niece? 
Count,  you  remember  the  conditions.     Come ! 

MAX.  {to  thekla). 
Lady,  I  must  obey.    Farewell,  dear  lady! 

[Thekla  turm  away  from  him  icith  a  quick  motion 
What  say'you  then,  dear  lady? 

THEKLA  {icithout  loolihuj  at  him). 

Nothing.     Go ; 

MAX. 

Can  I,  when  you  are  angry •,     .,    , 

^He  draws  up  to  her,  their  eyes  meet,  she  stands  sUeJit 
""      a  vioment,  then  throws  herself  into  his  arms;  he 
presses  her  fast  to  his  heart 


9C.  VII.]  THE   PICCOLOMINI.  Ill 

COUNTESS 

OftM  Heavens  !  if  any  one  should  come  ! 

Hoi-k  !  ^^^lat's  that  noise  !  It  comes  this  way. — Ofif ! 

[Max.  tears  himself  away  out  of  her  arms,  and  (joes 
The  Countess  accompanies  him.  Tiiekl.4. /o/Zoics 
him  with  her  eyes  at  first,  walks  resucssly  across 
the  room,  then  stojjs,  and  remains  standing,  lost  in 
thought.  A  guitar  lies  on  the  table,  she  seizes  it 
as  by  a  sudden  emotion,  and  after  she  has  played 
awhile  an  irregular  and  melancholy  symphony, 
she  falls  gradually  into  the  music  and  sings 

Scene  VII. 
THEKLA  {plays  and  sings). 
The  cloud  doth  gather,  the  greenwood  roar, 
The  damsel  paces  along  the  shore ; 
The  billows,  they  tumble  with  might,  with  might ; 
And  she  (lings  out  her  voice  to  the  darksome  night; 

Her  bosom  is  swelling  with  sorrow ; 
The  world  it  is  empty,  the  heart  wLU  die. 
There's  nothing  to  wish  for  beneath  the  sky: 
Thou  Holy  One,  call  thy  child  away'. 
I've  lived  and  loved,  and  that  was  to-day  ; 

Make  ready  my  grave-clothes  to-morrow* 

•  I  found  it  not  in  my  power  to  translate  this  soni:  with  iikral  fidelitv, 
preserviiis  r.t  the  same  time  the  Alcaic  movement,  and  have  therefore  added 
the  original,  v.-ith  a  prose  tninslation.  Some  of  my  readers  may  be  more  for- 
tunate. 

THr.Ki.A  {spidlt  und  singt). 
Der  EichwaUl  brauset,  die  Wolken  ziehn. 
Das  JMiigdlein  wandelt  an  Ufers  GriJn; 
Es  briclit  sicli  die  Welle  mit  Macht,  mit  Mach 
Und  sic  siniit  hinniis  in  die  iinstre  Xacht, 

Das  Auge  Ton  Wcinen  getriibet : 
Das  Herz  is  gostorben,  die  Welt  ist  leer, 
Und  weiter  giebt  sie  dem  Wunsche  nichts  mehr. 
Du  Heilige,  nife  dein  Kind  zuriick, 
Ich  habe  genossen  das  irdische  Gluck, 
Ich  habe  gelebt  und  geliebet. 

LITERAL   TKAXSLATION. 

niKRLA  iplai/s  and  sinjs). 
Tlio  oak -forest  bellows,  the  clouds  gather,  the  damsel  walks  to  and  fro  01 
tiie  green  of  the  shore;  the  wave  breaks  with  might,  witii  might,  and  she 


;112  THF.    riCOOLOMINI.  [ACT  Ul. 

SCKN'E   VIIL 

Countess  {returns),  Thekla. 

COUNTESS. 

Fie,  lad}'  niece  !  to  throw  yourself  upon  him 
Like  a  poor  gift  to  one  who  cares  not  for  it, 
And  so  must  be  tlung  after  him !     For  you, 
Duke  Friedland's  only  child,  I  sh.ould  have  thought. 
It  had  been  more  beseeming  to  have  shown  yourself 
2iIorc  chary  of  your  person. 

TiiEKLA  {rising). 

And  \Yhat  mean  yon  ? 

COUXTESS. 

1  mean,  niece,  that  you  should  not  have  forgotten 
■\Vho  you  are,  and  Adio  he  is.     But  perchance 
That  never  once  occurrVl  to  you. 

THEKLA. 

Wliat  then  ? 

COUNTESS. 

That  you're  daughter  of  the  Prince  Duke  Friedland. 

THEKLA. 

Well  and  what  farther? 

COUNTESS. 

What  ?  a  pretty  question ! 

BinRS  out  into  tlie  d.irk  night,  her  eye  discoloured  with  weeping :  the  heart 
•8  dead  the  world  is  empty,  and  further  gives  it  nothing  more  to  the  wish. 
Thou  Holy  One,  call  thy  child  home.  I  have  enjoyed  the  happiness  of  this 
world,  I  have  lived  and  have  loved. 

I  cannot  but  add  here  an  imitation  of  this  song,  with  which  my  friend, 
Charles  Lamb,  has  favoured  me,  and  which  appears  to  me  to  have  caught 
tlie  happiest  manner  of  our  old  ballads. 

The  clouds  are  blackening,  the  storms  threat'ning. 
The  cavern  doth  mutter,  the  greenwood  moan! 
Billows  are  breaking,  the  damsel's  heart  aching, 
Thus  in  the  dark  night  she  singeth  alone. 
Her  eye  upward  roving : 
The  world  is  empty,  the  heart  is  dead  sarely, 

In  this  world  plainly  all  seemeth  amiss; 
To  thy  heaven,  Holy  One,  take  home  thy  little  one, 
1  have  partaken  of  all  earth's  bliss, 
Uotb  living  and  loving. 


SC.  VIU.]  THE   PICCOT-OMISl.  113 

THEKLA. 

He  was  bom  that  which  we  have  but  hecomt. 
He's  of  an  ancient  Lombard  family, 
Sou  of  a  reigning  princess. 

COUXTESS 

Are  you  dreaming? 
Talking  in  sleep  ?     An  excellent  jest,  forsooth ! 
We  shall  no  doubt  right  courteously  entreat  him 
To  honour  ^^•ith  his  hand  the  richest  heiress 
In  Europe. 

THEKLA. 

That  will  not  be  uecessaiy. 

COUNTESS. 

Methinks  'twere  well,  though,  not  \o  ruu  the  hazaid 

THEKLA. 

His  father  loves  him ;  Count  Octavio 
Will  interpose  no  difficulty 

COUXTESS. 

His ! 
His  father !  His!     But  yours,  niece,  what  of  yours? 

THEKLA. 

Why  I  begin  to  think  you  fear  his  father. 
So  anxiously  you  hide  it  from  the  man  I 
His  father,  his,  I  mean. 

COUNTESS  {looks  at  her  as  scrutinising). 
Kiece,  you  axe  false. 

THEKLA. 

Are  you  then  wounded  ?     0,  be  friends  with  me ! 

COUNTESS. 

You  hold  your  game  for  won  already.     Do  not 
Triumph  too  soon ! 

THEKLA  [interriq'tinrj  her,  and  attonptimj  to  soothe  htr). 
Nay  now,  be  friends  with  me. 

COUNTESS. 

It  is  not  yet  so  far  gone. 

THEKlJi.. 

I  believe  you. 

COUNTESS. 

Did  you  suppose  your  father  had  laid  out 
His  most  important  life  in  toils  'A  war, 

I 


114  THE   PIOCOI.OMINI.  [act  JJ3 

Deoied  himself  each  quiet  earthly  bliss, 

Hail  banish'd  slumber  from  his  tent,  devoted 

His  noble  head  to  care,  and  for  this  only, 

To  make  a  happier  pair  of  you  ?     At  length 

To  draw  you  from  your  convent,  and  conduct 

In  easv  triumph  to  your  arms  the  man 

That  chanced  to  please  your  eyes!     All  this,  raetliiuks, 

He  might  have  purchased  at  a  chenper  rale 

THEKT^V. 

That  which  he  did  not  plant  for  me  might  yet 
Bear  me  fair  fruitage  of  its  own  accord. 
And  if  my  friendly  and  affectionate  fate. 
Out  of  his  fearful  and  enormous  being. 
Will  but  prepare  the  joys  of  life  for  me — 

COUNTESS. 

Thou  sccst  it  with  a  lovelorn  maiden's  eyes 

Cast  thine  eye  round,  bethink  tlicc  who  thou  all 

Into  no  house  of  joyance  hast  thou  stepp'd, 

For  no  espousals  dost  thou  find  the  walls 

Deck'd  out,  no  guests  the  nuptial  garland  wearing 

Here  is  no  splendour  but  of  arms.     Or  thiuk'st  thou 

That  all  tliese  thousands  are  here  congregated 

To  lead  up  the  long  dances  at  thy  wedding! 

Thou  seest  thy  father's  forehead  fiill  of  thought. 

Thy  mother's  eye  in  tears :  upon  the  balance 

Lies  the  great  destiny  of  all  our  house. 

Leave  now  the  puny  wish,  the  girlish  feeling. 

0  thrust  it  far  behind  thee  !    Give  thou  proof, 

Thou'rt  the  daughter  of  the  Mighty — his 

Who  where  he  moves  creates  the  wonderful 

Not  to  herself  the  woman  must  belong, 

Aimcx'd  and  bound  to  alien  destinies. 

But  she  performs  the  best  part,  she  the  wisest 

Who  can  transmute  the  alien  into  self. 

Meet  and  disarm  necessity  by  choice  ; 

And  what  must  be,  take  freely  to  her  heart, 

And  bear  and  foster  it  with  mother's  love. 

THEKLA. 

Such  ever  was  my  lesson  in  the  convent. 
T  had  no  loves,  no  wislies,  knew  myself 


SC.  VIIT  J  THE   PICCOIOillNI. 


115 


Only  as  his— his  (laughter— his,  the  Mighty ! 
His  fame,  the  echo  of  whose  blast  drove  to  nxQ 
From  the  far  distance,  waken'd  in  my  soul 
No  other  thought  than  this— I  am  appointed 
To  offer  myself  up  in  passiveness  to  him. 

COUNTESS. 

That  is  thy  fate.     Mould  thou  thy  wishes  to  it.  .>-'■' 

J  and  thy  mother  gave  thee  the  example. 

TREKLA. 

My  fate  hath  shown  me  him,  to  whom  hehoves  it 
That  I  should  offer  up  myself.     In  gladness 
Him  will  I  follow. 

COUNTESS. 

Not  thy  fate  hath  shown  him  * 
Thy  heart,  say  rather- -'twas  thy  heart,  my  child ! 

THEKLA. 

Fate  hath  no  voice  but  the  heart's  impulses. 
I  am  all  his  !    His  present — his  alone. 
Is  this  new  life,  which  lives  in  me  ?    He  hath 
A  right  to  his  ovm  creature.     What  was  I 
Ere  his  fair  love  infused  a  soul  into  me? 

COUNTESS. 

Thou  wouldst  oppose  thy  father  then,  should  he 
Have  otherwise  determined  with  thy  person? 

[Thekla  remains  silent.     The  Countess  continues, 
Thou  mean'st  to  force  him  to  thy  liking  ?— Child, 
His  name  is  Friedland. 

THEKLA. 

My  name  too  is  Friedland 
He  shall  have  found  a  genuine  daughter  in  me. 

COUNTESS. 

What!  he  has  vanquish'd  all  impediment. 
And  in  the  wilful  mood  of  his  own  daughter 
Shall  a  new  struggle  rise  for  him  ?     Child!  child ! 
As  yet  thou  hast  seen  thy  father's  smiles  alone ; 
The  eye  of  his  rage  thou  hast  not  seen.     Dear  elxili 
T  will  not  frighten  thee.     To  that  extreme, 
1  trust,  it  ne'er  shall  come.     His  will  is  yet 
"Unknown  to  me  :  'tis  possible  his  aims 
Ma-^  have  the  same  direction  as  thy  wish. 

i2 


110  THK   PICCOLOMIMI  [A'^T    "^ 

But  this  can  never,  never  be  his  wilJ, 
That  thou,  the  daughter  of  his  haughty  fortmies, 
Shouldst  e'er  demean  thee  as  a  love-sick  maiden  ■ 
Aud  like  some  poor  cost-nothing,  fling  thyself 
Toward  the  man,  who,  if  that  high  prize  ever 
Be  destined  tn  awmt  him,  yet,  with  sacrifices 
The  highest  love  can  bring,  must  pay  for  it. 

[Exit  Countess. 

Scene  IX. 
THEKLA  {who  duriufj  the  last  speech  had  been  standing  evi- 
dently lost  in  her  reflections). 
I  thank  thee  for  the  hint.     It  turns 
My  sad  presentiment  to  certainty. 
And  it  is  so  !— Kot  one  friend  have  we  here, 
Not  one  true  heart!  we've  nothing  but  ourselves! 

0  she  said  rightly — no  auspicious  signs 
Beam  on  this  covenant  of  our  affections. 
This  is  no  theatre,  where  hope  abides : 
The  dull  thick  noise  of  war  alone  stirs  here ; 
And  Love  himself,  as  he  were  arm'd  in  steel, 
Steps  forth,  and  girds  him  for  the  strife  of  death. 

{Music  from  the  banquet-room  is  heard. 
There's  a  dark  spirit  walldng  in  our  house, 
And  swiftly  will  the  Destiny  close  on  us. 
It  drove  me  hither  from  my  calm  asylum. 
It  mocks  my  soul  with  charming  witcheiy, 
It  lures  me  forward  in  a  seraph's  shape, 

1  see  it  near,  I  see  it  nearer  floating, 

It  draws,  it  pulls  me  with  a  god-like  power — 
And  lo !  the  abyss— and  thither  am  1  moving — 
I  have  no  power  within  me  not  to  move  ! 

[The  music  from  tlie  banquet-room  becomes  louder 
O  when  a  house  is  doom'd  in  fire  to  perisu. 
Many  and  dark  Heaven  diives  his  clouds  together. 
Yea,"' shoots  his  lightnings  down  from  sunny  heights, 
Flames  burst  from  out  the  subterraneous  chasms, 

*  And  fiends  and  angels,  mingling  in  their  fuiy, 

Sling  fire-brands  at  the  bummg  edifice.         [Exit  Thekla 

•  There  are  f«w  wbo  will  not  have  taste  enough  to  laugh  at  the  two  con- 


117 
ACT   tV.,  SC.  I.J  THE   PICCOLOmSl  ^^' 

ACT  IV. 
Scene  I. 
A  larqe  Saloon  lighted  vp  ivith festal  Splendour;  in  the  midst 
of  iV,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  Stage,  a  Table  richly  set  out, 
at  u-hich  eight  Generals  are  sitting,  among  ichom  arc  Octavio 
PiccoLOMiNi,  Teezkt,  and  Mae.ujas.  Bight  and  left  of 
this,  hut  farther  hack,  tuo  other  Tables,  at  each  of  xchich  sio! 
jjersons  are  placed.  The  Middle  Door,  which  is  standing 
open,  gives  to  the  prospect  a  fourth  Table  tiith  the  same  num- 
ber of  persons.  More  foru-ard  stands  the  sideboard.  The 
whole  front  of  the  Stage  is  hept  open  for  the  Pages  and 
Servants  in  tvaiting.  All  is  in  motion.  The  Band  of  Music 
belonging  to  Ter'zkt's  Begiment  march  across  the  Stage, 
and  draic  up  round  the  Tables.  Before  they  are  quite  off 
from  the  front  of  the  Stage,  ]\L\x.  Piccolomini  appears, 
Teezkt  advances  towards  him.  with  a  paper,  Isolani  comes 
up  to  meet  him  xcith  a  Beaker  or  Service-cup. 

Teezkt,  Isolani,  Max.  Piccolomiki. 

ISOLAN'I. 

Here,  brother,  what  we  love  !     Vfhj,  where  hast  been  ? 
Off  to  thy  place— quick!      Terzkv  here  has  given 
The  mother's  holiday  wine  up  to  free  booty. 
Here  it  goes  on  as  at  the  Heidelberg  castle. 
Already  hast  thou  lost  the  best.     They  re  giving 
At  yonder  table  ducal  crowns  in  shares ; 
There's  Sternberg's  lands  and  chattels  are  put  up, 
With  Eggenberg's,  Stawata's,  Lichtenstein's, 
And  all  the  great  Bohemian  feodalities. 
I^e  nimble,  lad  1  and  something  may  turn  up 
For  thee— who  knows?  off— to  thy 'place  !  quick  !  march  ! 
TTEFENBACH  and  GOETZ  {call  out  from  the  second  and  third 
tables). 
Count  Piccolomini ! 

TERZKT. 

Stop,  ye  shall  have  him  in  an  inst;int. — Read 

chiding  lines  of  this  soliloquy  ;  and  still  fswer,  I  would  fain  hope,  who  woul 
not  have  been  more  disposed  to  shudder,  had  I  given  a  faithful  translation. 
For  the  readers  of  German  I  have  added  the  original : 

Blind-w'iithend  schleudert  selbst  der  Gott  der  Freud3 

Den  Techkrarz  in  das  brennendc  Gebaude. 


118  THF,   rlCCOLOMINT.  L^CT  IV, 

This  oatli  here,  whether  as  'tis  here  set  forth, 

The  wording  satisfies  you.     They've  all  read  it, 

Each  in  his" turn,  and  each  one  will  subscribe 

His  individual  signature.  : 

MAX    [reads).  •  .  , 

"  Tngratis  servirc  nciVis."  j 

ISOLANI. 

That  sounds  to  my  ears  very  much  like  Latin, 
And  being  inrcrpreted,  nray  what  may't  mean? 

TEEZKY. 

No  honest  man  will  serve  a  thankless  master 

MAX. 

"  Inasmuch  as  our  supreme  Commander,  the  illustrious 
Duke  of  Fricdland,  in  consequence  of  the  manifold  affronts 
and  grievances  which  he  has  received,  had  expressed  his 
determination  to  quit  the  Emperor,  but  on  our  unanimous 
eii treaty  has  graciously  consented  to  remain  still  with  the 
army,  and  not  to  part  from  us  without  our  approbation 
thereof,  so  we,  collectively  and  each  in  particular,  in  the 
stead  of  an  oath  personally  taken,  do  hereby  oblige  our- 
selves— likewise  by  him  honoui-ably  and  faithfully  to  hold^ 
and  in  nowise  whatsoever  from  him  to  part,  and  to  be  ready 
to  shed  for  his  interests  the  last  drop  of  our  blood,  so  far, 
namely,  as  our  oath  to  the  Emperor  kUI  permit  it.  {These 
last  words  are  repeated  hij  Isolani.)  In  testimony  of  whicll 
we  subscribe  our  names." 

i:ekzky. 
Now! — arc  you  willing  to  subscribo  this  paper? 

ISOI.ANr. 

Why  should  he  not?    All  officers  of  honour 
Can  do  it,  oy,  must  do  it  — Pen  and  ink  here ! 

I'EF.ZKt. 

Nay,  let  it  rest  till  after  meal. 

ISOLANI  (draidntj  Max.  along). 

Come,  Max. 
{Both  seat  themselves  at  their  table. 


119 

gQ   j^^^j  THH   PICCOLOSriNl. 

Scene  II. 

Teezkt,  Nex;:ja>n'. 

XKKZKY  {beckons  to  NEUMANN,  n7.o  is  icaiting  at  thcsidcudn, 

and  steps  forward  xcith  him  to  the  edge  ojthe  stage). 

Have  you  the  copy  ^ith  you.  Neumann?     (jive  it 

It  may  be  changed  for  the  other? 

NEUilANN. 

I  have  copied  it 
Letter  by  letter,  line  hy  line  ;  no  eye 
Would  e'er  discover  other  difference, 
Save  only  the  omission  of  that  clause, 
According  to  your  Excellency"s  order. 

TERZKY. 

Ei"ht!  lay  it  yonder,  and  away  with  this— 
It  has  performed  its  business-to  the  fire  uitli  n—    ^ 
[Neumann  lags  the  copg  on  the  table,  and  stcp^  bac<t 
"  again  to  the  side-table. 

Scene  III. 
Illo  {comes  out  from,  the  second  Chamber],  Terzki. 

I  LLC. 

How  goes  it  with  young  Piccolomini ! 

TERZKY. 

All  right,  I  think     He  has  started  no  objectiou 

ILLO. 

He  is  the  only  one  I  fear  about — 

He  and  his  father.     Have  an  eye  on  both  ! 

TERZKY. 

How  looks  it  at  your  table  :  you  forget  not 
To  keep  them  warm  and  stirring  ? 

tLLO 

0,  quite  cordia.'. 
They  arc  quite  cordial  in  the  scheme.     ^Ye  have  thom 
And  'tis  as  I  predicted  too.     Already 
It  is  the  talk,  not  merely  to  maintain 
The  Duke  in  station.     "  Since  we're  once  for  all 
Together  and  unanimous,  why  not," 
Says  Montecuculi,  "ay,  wby  noi  onward. 
And  make  conditions  with  the  Emperor 


120  TnE  nccoLOMim.  L^ct  iv. 

Tliere  in  his  o^vn  Vienna?"     Trust  me,  Count, 
Were  it  not  for  these  said  Piccolomini, 
AVe  might  have  spared  cm-selves  the  cheat. 

TEUZKY. 

And  Butler? 

How  goes  it  there  ?   Hush ! 

Scene  IV 
To  them  enter  CuxLER/rom  the  second  table. 

BUTLER. 

Don't  disturb  yourselves. 
Fiekl-Murslial,  I  have  understood  you  perfectly. 
Good  luck  be  to  the  scheme ;  and  as  to  me, 

[With  an  air  of  mystery 
You  may  depend  upon  me. 

ILLO  [ivith  vivacity). 

May  \ve,  Butle:  ? 

BUTLER 

Witli  or  without  the  clause,  all  one  to  me ! 

You  understand  me  ?     My  fidelity 

Tlie  Duke  may  put  to  any  proof — I'm  with  him ! 

Tell  him  so  !     I'm  the  Emperor's  officer, 

As  long  as  'tis  his  pleasure  to  remain 

The  Emperor's  general !  and  Friedland's  servant, 

As  soon  as  it  shall  please  him  to  become 

His  own  lord 

TERZKY. 

Y'ou  would  make  a  good  exchange 
No  stern  economist,  no  Ferdinand, 
Is  he  to  whom  you  plight  your  services. 

BUTLER  {with  a  haughty  look). 
I  do  not  put  up  my  fidelity 
To  sale,  Count  Terzky  !     Half  a  year  ago 
I  would  not  have  advised  you  to  have  made  me 
An  overture  to  that,  to  which  I  now 
OtFer  myself  of  my  own  frno  accord. — 
But  that  is  past !  and  to  the  Duke,  Field  Marshal, 
1  bring  myself  together  with  my  regiment. 
And  mark  you,  'tis  my  humour  to  believe. 
The  example  which  I  give  will  not  remata 
"Without  an  influence. 


^^    II  I  THE    PICCOLOMINI 


121 


IT.LO. 

Wlio  is  ignorant, 
That  the  whole  army  look  to  Colonel  Butler, 
As  to  a  light  that  moves  before  them  ? 

BUTLER. 

Ey? 

Tlien  I  repent  me  not  of  that  fidelity 
Which  for  the  length  of  forty  years  I  held. 
If  in  my  sixtieth  year  my  good  old  name 
Can  purchase  for  me  a  revenge  so  full 
Start  not  at  what  I  say,  sir  Generals  ! 
My  real  motives— they  concern  not  you. 
And  you  yourselves,  1  trust,  could  not  expect 
That  this  your  game  had  crook'd  vuj  judgment-or 
That  fickleness,  quick  blood,  or  such  hke  cause. 
Has  driven  the  old  man  from  the  track  of  honour 
Which  he  so  long  had  trodden.     Come,  my  friends  ! 
I'm  not  thereto  determined  ^vith  less  tirmness, 
Because  1  know  and  have  looked  steadily 
At  that  on  which  I  have  determined. 

I  LLC. 

Say, 
And  speak  roundly,  what  are  we  to  deem  you? 

BUTLER. 

A  friend '  I  give  you  here  my  hand  !  I'm  yours 

With  all  I  have.     Not  only  men,  but  money 

Will  the  Duke  want.  — Go,  tell  him,  sirs  !      _ 

I've  eam'd  and  laid  up  somewhat  in  his  service, 

I  lend  it  him  ;  and  is  he  my  survivor, 

It  has  been  already  long  ago  bequeathed  him- 

lie  is  my  heir.     For  me,  I  stand  alone 

Here  in  the  world  ;  nought  knew  I  of  the  feeling 

That  binds  the  husband  to  a  wife  and  children. 

Tkly  name  dies  with  me,  my  existence  ends. 

irxo. 
Tis  not  your  money  that  he  needs— a  heart 
Like  yours  weighs  tons  of  gold  down,  weighs  down  millions ! 

BUTLER. 

I  came  a  simple  soldier's  boy  from  Ireland 

To  Prar^ue-  and  with  a  master,  whom  I  buned. 


122  "niK  piccoLOMiNi.  [act  iv. 

From  lowest  stable  duty  I  climb VI  up, 
Such  was  the  fate  of  war,  to  this  high  rank. 
The  plaything  of  a  whimsical  good  fortune. 
And  Walleustein  too  is  a  child  of  luck  ; 
I  love  a  fortune  that  is  like  my  own. 

I  LLC. 

All  powcrfid  souls  liave  kindred  with  civ:h  other. 

BUTLER. 

This  is  an  awful  moment !  to  the  brave 
To  the  determined,  an  auspicious  moment. 
The  Prince  of  Weimar  arms,  upon  the  Maine, 
To  found  a  mighty  dukedom      He  of  Halberstad*., 
That  Mansfeldt,  wanted  but  a  longer  life 
To  have  mark'd  out  with  his  good  sword  a  lordship 
That  should  reward  his  courage.     Wlio  of  these 
Equals  our  Friedland  ?     There  is  nothing,  nothn.g 
So  high,  but  he  may  set  the  ladder  to  it! 

TERZKY 

That's  spoken  like  a  man  1 

BUTLER 

Do  you  secure  the  Spaniard  and  Italian — 
I'll  be  your  warrant  for  the  Scotchman  Lesly. 
Come,  to  the  company  I 

TERZKY. 

Where  is  the  master  of  the  cellar?     Ho  ! 

Let  the  best  wines  come  up.     Ho  !  cheerly,  boy ! 

Luck  comes  to-day,  so  give  her  hearty  welcome. 

[Exmiit,  each  to  his  LthU. 

SctxE  V. 

The  Master  of  the  Cef.lar,  advancing  tvith  Neumann, 

Servants  j^rtsstHT/  backwards  and  forwards. 

MASTER    OF   THE    CELLAR. 

The  best  wine !  0,  if  my  old  mistress,  his  lady  mother, 
could  but  see  these  wild  goings  on,  she  would  turn  herseif 
round  in  her  grave.  Yes,  yes,  sir  officer !  'tis  all  down  the 
liill  with  this  noble  house  !  no  end.  no  moderation  !  And 
this  marriage  with  the  Dukes  sistei  a  splendid  connexion,  a 
very  splendid  connexion!  but  I  will  tell  you,  sir  officer, it 
looks  no  good. 


SC.    v.]  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  123 

NEUMANN'. 

Heaven  forbid!     Wliy,  at  this  very  moment  the   whrlc 
prospect  is  in  hud  and  blossom  ! 

HU.STER   OF   THE    CELLAR. 

You  think  so  ? — Well,  well !  much  may  be  said  on  that  head 

FIRST    SERVANT   {comes). 

Burgundy  for  the  fourth  table. 

MASTER    OK   THE    CELLAR. 

Now,  sir  lieutenant,  if  this  an"t  the  seventieth  flask — 

FIRST    SERVANT. 

Whv,  the  reason  is,  that  German  lord,  Tiefenbach,  sits  at 
that  table. 

MASTER  OF  THE  CELL.VR  {coiitiuuinrj  his  iliscoursc  to 

NEUMANN). 

They  are  soaring  too  high.  They  would  rival  kings  and 
electors  in  their  pomp  and  splendour  ;  and  wherever  the  Duke 
leaps,  not  a  minute  does  my  gracious  master,  the  Count,  loiter 
on  the  brink— (fo  the  Servants).— What  do  you  stand  tliero 
listening  for?  I  will  let  you  know  you  have  legs  presently 
Oir !  see  to  the  tables,  see  to  the  flasks  1  Look  there  !  Count 
Palfi  has  an  empty  glass  before  him  ! 
RUNNER  [comes). 

The  great  service-cup  is  wanted,  sir ;  that  rich  gold  cup 
with  the'^Bohemian  arms  on  it.  The  Count  says  you  know 
which  it  is 

MASTER    OF    THE    CELLAR. 

Ay  !  that  was  made  for  Frederick's  coronation  by  the  art- 
ist William— there  was  not  such  another  prize  in  the  whole 
booty  at  Prague. 

RUNNER. 

The  same  1 — a  health  is  to  go  round  in  him 
MASTER  OF  THE  CELLAR  {shaking  his  head  while  hefetcJies 

and  rinses  the  cups). 
This  will  be  something  for  the  tale-bearers— this  goes  to 
V'ienna. 

NEUMANN. 

Permit  me  to  look  at  it  —Well,  this  is  a  cup  indeed  1  How 
heavy  !  as  well  it  may  be,  being  all  gold.  — And  what  neat 
thiu'Ts  are  embossed  on  it!  how  natural  and  elegant  they 
look''!— There,  on  the  first  quarter,  let  me  see.     That  proud 


124  THE  nccoLOMiNi.  [act  IV. 

Amazon  tlicre  on  horseback,  she  that  is  taking  a  leap  over  the 
crosier  and  mitres,  and  carries  on  a  wand  a  hat  together  with 
a  banner,  on  which  there's  a  goblet  represented.  Can  you 
tell  me  what  all  this  signifies  ? 

MASTER   OF    THE    CELLAR. 

The  woman  you  see  there  on  horseback,  is  the  Free  Elec- 
tion of  the  Bohemian  Crown.  That  is  signified  by  the  round 
hat,  and  by  that  fiery  steed  on  which  she  is  riding.  The  hat 
is  the  pride  of  man;  for  he  who  cannot  keep  his  hat  on  before 
kings  and  emperors  is  no  free  man. 

NEUMANN. 

But  what  is  the  cup  there  on  the  banner  ^ 

MASTER    OF   THE    CELIAR. 

The  cup  signifies  the  freedom  of  the  Bohemian  Church, 
as  it  was  in  our  forefathers'  times.  Our  foi-efathers  in  the 
wars  of  the  Hussites  forced  from  the  Pope  this  noble  pi'ivi- 
lege  ;  for  the  Pope,  you  know,  will  not  grant  the  cup  to  any 
layman.  Your  true  Moravian  values  nothing  beyond  the  cup; 
it'is  his  costly  jewel,  and  has  cost  the  Bohemians  their  pre- 
cious blood  in  many  and  many  a  battle. 

NEUMANN. 

And  what  savs  that  chart  that  hangs  in  the  air  there,  over 
it  all  ? 

MASTER    OF   THE    CELLAR. 

That  signifies  the  Bohemian  letter-royal,  which  we  forced 
from  the  Emperor  Rudolph— a  precious,  never  to  be  enough 
valued  parchment,  that  secures  to  the  new  church  the  old  pri- 
vileges of  free  ringing  and  open  psalmody  But  since  he  of 
Steiermark  has  ruled  over  us,  that  is  at  an  end  ;  and  after  the 
battle  at  Prague,  in  which  Count  Palatine  Frederick  lost  crown 
and  empire,  our  faith  hangs  upon  the  pulpit  and  the  altar — 
and  our  brethren  look  at  their  homes  over  their  shoulders : 
but  the  letter-royal  the  Emperor  himself  cut  to  pieces  -with 
his  scissors. 

NEUMANN. 

"Why,  my  good  ]\Iaster  of  the  Cellar !  you  are  deep  read  iu 
ihe  chronicles  of  your  countiy? 

MASTER    OF   THE    CELLAR. 

So  were  my  forefathers,  a-nd  for  that  reason  were  they  min- 
strels, and  served  under  Procopius  and  Ziska.     Peace  be  with 


gC.  v.]  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  125 

their  aslies !     Well,  well !  they  fought  for  a  good  cause  thougli 
— There  !  carry  it  up  ! 

NEUMAKX. 

Stay  !  let  me  but  look  at  this  second  quarter.     Look  there! 
That  is,  when  at  Prague  Castle  the  Imperial  counsellors,  ^lai 
tinitz,  and  Stawata,  were  hurled  domi  head  over  heels.     'Tis 
even  so  I  there  stands  Count  Thur  who  commands  it. 

[Runner  takes  the  service-cup  and  'joes  ojj'  uhh  it. 

MASTER    OF   THE    CELLAR. 

0  let  me  never  more  hear  of  that  day.  It  was  the  three- 
and-twentieth  of  May,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand 
six  hundred  and  eighteen.  It  seems  to  me  as  it  were  but 
yesterday — from  that  unlucky  day  it  all  began,  all  the  heart- 
aches of  the  country  Since  that  day  it  is  now  sixteen  years, 
and  there  has  never  once  been  peace  on  the  earth 

[Health  drunk  aloud  at  the  second  table. 

The  Prince  of  Weimar  I  Hurra! 

[At  the  third  and  fourth  table 

Long  live  Prince  "William  !  Long  live  Duke  Bernard  I 
jjurra  !  [Music  strikes  up 

FIRST    SERVANT. 

Hear  'em  !  Hear  'em  I  What  an  uproar ! 

SECOND  SERVANT  [comes  in  running). 
Did  vou  heai-?     They  have  drunk  the  Prince  of  Weimar's 
health 

THIRD    SERVANT. 

The  Swedish  Chief  Commander ! 

FIRST  SERVANT  [speakinrj  at  the  same  time). 
The  Lutheran  I 

SECOND    SERVANT. 

Just  before,  when  Count  Deodati  gave  out  the  Emperor's 
health,  they  were  all  as  mum  as  a  nibbling  mouse. 

MASTER    OF   THE    CELLAR. 

Po,  po  I  When  the  wine  goes  in  strange  things  come  out. 
A  good  servant  hears,  and  hears  not!— You  should  be  nothing 
but  eyes  and  feet,  except  when  you  are  called  to. 

SECOND    SERVANT. 

[To  the  Runner,  to  iihom  he  gives  secrethj  a  flask  of 
wine,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  Master  of  the  Cellar, 
standing  between  him  and  the  Runner. 
Quick,  Thomas  1  before  the  Master  of  the  Cellar  runs  tliis 


12G  i^HE   PICCOLOMINI  [aCT  IV. 

^ay— 'tis  a  flask  of  Froutignac  !— Snapped  it  up  at  the  third 
tntio— Caust  go  oir  with  it  ? 

KUKNEE  [hides  it  in  his  pocket). 
All  rjaht !  [Exit  the  Second  Servant 

THiRn  SERVANT  [aside  to  the  First). 
Be  on  the  hark,  Jack !  that  we  may  have  right  plenty  to 
tell  to  Father  Qnivoga.— He  will  give  us  right  plenty  of  abso- 
lution in  return  for  it. 

FIRST    SERVANT. 

For  that  very  purpose  I  am  always  having  something  to  do 
Lehind  Illo's  chair  —He  is  the  man  for  speeches  to  make  you 
stare  with  ! 

MASTER    OF   THE    CELIAR   [tO  NEUMANN). 

Who,  pray,  may  that  swarthy  man  be,  he  with  the  cross, 
that  is  chatting  so  confidently  with  Esterhats? 

NEUMANN. 

Av  !  he  toe  is  one  of  those  to  whom  they  confide  too  much 
Pie  calls  himself  Maradas,  a  Spaniard  is  he. 

MASTER    OF   THE    CELLAR   (J»yM((Cn(Z)/). 

Spaniard!  Spaniard!  —  !  tell  you,  friend,  nothing  good 
comes  of  those  Spaniards.  All  these  outlandish  fellows  are 
little  better  than  rogues. 

NEUMANN. 

Fy,  fy !  you  should  not  say  so,  friend.  There  are  among 
them  our  very  best  generals,  and  those  on  whom  the  Duke  at 
this  moment  relies  the  most. 

MASTER    OF   THE    CELLAR. 

[Takiiuj  the  jlask  out  of  the  Pamner's  pocket. 
My  son,  it  will  be  broken  to  pieces  in  your  pocket 

[Terzki'    hurries  in,  fetches  away   the  Paper  and 
calls  to  a  Servant  for  Pen  and  Ink,  and  goes  to 
the  hack  of  the  Stage. 
MASTER  OF  THE  CELLAR  [to  the  Servants). 
The  Lieutenant-General  stands  up. — Be  on  the  watch  — 
Now  !     They  break  up. — Off  and  move  back  the  forms. 

[Theij  rise  at  all  the  Tables,  the  Servai  ts  hvrry  off 
the  front  of  the  Stage  to  the  Tables;  part  of  the 
gxiests  come  forward. 


SC.  VI .1  THR   PlOCOLOMIiJI.  1-7 

Scene  VI. 
OcTAVio  PiccoLOMixi  enters  in  conversation  uith  Maradas, 
and  both  place  themselves  quite  on  the  edge  of  the  Stage  on 
one  side  of  the  Proscenium.  On  the  side  directly  opposite. 
Max.  Piccolomini,  by  himself,  lost  in  thought,  and  taking 
no  part  in  anything  that  is  going  foncard.  The  middle 
space  bettceen  both,  but  rather  more  distant  from  the  edge  of 
the  Stage,  is  filled  up  by  Buxler,  Isolani,  Goetz,  Tiefen- 

BACH.  and  KOLATTO. 

ISOLAN'I  [u-hile  the  Company  is  coming  fonvard). 
Good  night,  good  night,  Kolatto  !    Good  night.  Lieutenant 
General  I — I  should  rather  say,  good  morning. 
goetz  (to  tiefenbach). 
Noble  brother  1  (making  the  usual  compliment  after  meals). 

tiefenbach. 
Ay !  'twas  a  royal  feast  hideed. 

GOETZ. 

Yes,  my  Lady  Countess  understands  these  matters.  Her 
mother-in-law.  Heaven  rest  her  soul,  taught  her ! — Ah  !  tha 
was  a  housewife  for  you  ! 

TIEFENBACH. 

There  was  not  her  like  in  all  Bohemia  for  setting  out  a 
table 

OCTAVIO  (aside  to  maradas). 
Do  me  the  favour  to  talk  to  me — talk  of  what  you  will— or 
of  nothing.  Only  preserve  the  appeai'ance  at  least  of  talking. 
1  would  not  wish  to  stand  by  myself,  and  yet  I  conjecture 
that  there  will  be  goings  on  here  worthy  of  our  attentive 
observation.  [He  continues  to  Jix  his  eye  on  the  whole  folloic- 
ing  scene.) 

isoLANi  {on  the  point  of  going). 
Lights '  lights ! 

TERZKY  (advances  icith  the  Paper  to  Isolani) 
Noble  brother;  two  mnmtes  longer! — Here  is  something 
to  subscribe. 

ISOLANI. 

Subscribe  as  much  as  you  like — but  you  must  excuse  me 
from  rcadinq;  it. 


128  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  [ACTIV 

TERZKY. 

There  is  no  need.     It  is  the  oath  which  you  have  alread/ 
read. — Only  a  few  marks  of  your  pen ! 

[IsoLAKi  hands  over  the  Faj^er  to  Octavio  respectfully 

TERZKY. 

Nay,  nay,  first  come  first  served.     There  is  no  precedence 
here.     [Octavio  rum  over  the  Paper  with  apparent  indiffer 
ence.     Terzky  watches  him  at  some  distance. 

GOETZ    [to  terzky). 

Noble  Count  I  with  your  permission — good  night. 

TERZKY. 

Where's  the  hurry  ?     Come    one  other  composing  draught. 
[To  the  Servants).— Ho ! 

GOETZ. 


Excuse  me — a  nt  able. 
A  thimble-full ! 
Excuse  me. 


TERZKY 
GOETZ. 


TIEFENBACH   [s,.*,S  dowu). 

Pardon  me,  nobles.' — This  standing  does  not  agree  with 
mc. 

TERZKY.  : 

Consult  only  your  own  convenience,  General ' 

TIEFENBACH. 

Clear  at  head,  sound  in  stomach — only  my  legs  won't  carry 
mc  any  longer 

isoEANT  [pointing  at  his  corpulence). 
Poor  legs !  how  should  they !     Such  an  unmerciful  load : 
rOcTAVio  subscribes  his  name,  a)id  readies  over  the 
Paper  to  Teu/ky,  uho  ijivcs  it  to  Isolani  ;  and  he 
goes  to  the  table  to  sign  Jiis  name, 

TIEFENIJACH. 

Twas  that  war  in  Pomerania  that  first  brought  it  on.  Out 
in  all  weatliers— ice  and  snow  — no  help  for  it.  I  shall  uever 
get  the  better  of  it  all  the  days  of  my  life 

GOETZ. 

Why.  in  simple  verity,  your  Swede  makes  no  nice  inquiries 
about  the  season 


SC.  VI.]  THK    PlCCOLOillNI  129 

TERZKT  {observing  isola>'i,  whose  hand  tremhles  excessively  so 
that  he  can  scarce  direct  his  pen). 
Have  you  had  that  ugly  complaint  long,  noble  brother? — 
Dispatch  it. 

ISOLAXI. 

The  sins  of  youth!  I  have  already  tried  the  chalybeate 
waters.     Well — I  must  bear  it. 

[Terzkt  gives  the  Paper  to  Maeatas;  he  steps  to 
the  table  to  subscribe. 

ocTAVio  [advancing  to  butlee). 
You  are  not  over  fond  of  the  orgies  of  Bacchus,  Colonel  1 
I  have  observed  it.     You  would,  I  think,  find  yoiuseK  more 
to  your  liking  in  the  uproar  of  a  battle,  than  of  a  feast. 

BUTLER. 

I  must  confess,  'tis  not  in  my  -svay. 

OCTAVIO  (stepping  nearer  to  him  friendlily). 

Nor  in  mine  either,  I  can  assure  you ;  and  I  am  not  a 
little  glad,  my  much  honoured  Colonel  Butler,  that  ^ve  agree 
so  well  in  our  opinions.  A  haK  dozen  good  friends  at  most, 
at  a  small  round  table,  a  glass  of  genuine  Tokay,  open  hearts, 
and  a  rational  conversation— that's  my  taste  I 

BUTLER. 

And  mine  too,  when  it  can  be  had. 

\ The  paper  comes  to  Tiefenbach,  icho  glances  over 
it  at  the  same  time  xcith   Goetz  and  Kolatto. 
Maeadas  in  the  mean  time  returns  to  Octayio 
All  this  takes  place,  the  conversation  with  Butleb 
proceeding  U7iinterrupted. 
OCTAVIO  {introducing  maeadas  to  butleb). 
Don  Balthasar  Maradas !  likewise  a  man  of  our  stamp,  and 
long  ago  your  admirer.  [Butleb  bows 

OCTAVIO  {continuing). 
Y^u  are  a  stranger  here — 'twas  but  yesterday  you  arrived 

you  are  ignorant  of  the  ways  and  means  here.      'Tis  a 

wretched  place — I  know,  at  our  age,  one  loves  to  be  snug  and 
quiet.  What  if  you  moved  your  lodgings?— Come,  be  my 
visitor.  (Butler  makes  a  low  how )  Nay,  without  compli 
ment! — For  a  friend  like  you,  I  have  still  a  comer  re- 
maining. 


130  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  [aCT  IV. 

BUTLER   (coldly). 

Your  obliged  humble  servant,  my  Lord  Lieutenant-General. 
[TJie  paper  conies  to  Butler,  who  goes  to  the  table 
to  subscribe  it.     The  front  of  the  stage  is  vacant, 
so  that  both  the  Piccolominis,  each  on  the  side 
where  he  had  been  from  the  commencement  of  the 
scene,  remain  alone. 
OCTAVTO  (after  having  some  time  watched  his  son  in  silence, 
advances  somewhat  nearer  to  him 
You  were  long  absent  from  us,  friend ! 

MAX. 

I urgent  business  detained  me. 

OCTAVIO. 

And,  I  observe,  you  are  still  absent ! 

MAX. 

You  know  this  crowd  and  bustle  always  makes  me  silent. 

OCTAVIO  (advancing  still  nearer). 
May  I  be  permitted  to  ask  what  the  business  was  that 
detained  you  ?    Terzky  knows  it  without  asking  ? 

MAX. 

What  does  Terzky  know? 

OCTAVIO. 

He  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  miss  you. 
ttJOLANi  [who  has  been  attending  to  them  for  some  distance 
steps  up) 
Well  done,  father!    Rout  out  his  baggage!    Beat  up  his 
quarters !  there  is  something  there  that  should  not  be. 
TERZKY  [with  the  paper). 
Is  there  none  wanting  ?     Have  the  whole  subscribed  ? 

OCTAVIO. 

All 

TERZKY  [calling  aloiid). 
Ho !  Who  subscribes  ? 

BUTLER   [to  TERZKYV 

Count  the  names.     There  ought  to  bo  just  thirty. 

TERZKY. 

Here  is  a  cross 

TIEFENBACH. 

That's  my  mark. 


SC.  VII.]  THE   PICCOLOMINI.  131 

ISOLANI. 

He  cannot  write ;  but  his  cross  is  a  good  cvoss,  and  is 
honoured  by  Jews  as  well  as  Christians. 

ocTAVio  [presses  on  to  max.). 
Come,  general !  let  us  go.     It  is  late. 

TERZKT. 

One  Piccolomini  only  has  signed. 

ISOLANI  (jwinting  to  MAX.). 
Look !  that  is  your  man,  that  statue  there,  who  has  had 
neither  eye,  ear,  nor  tongue  for  us  the  whole  evening. 

[Max.  receives  the  paper  from  Terzky,  which  he  looks 
upon  vacantly. 

Scene  VII. 

To  these  enter  Ili.o  from  the  inner  room.  He  has  in  his 
hand  a  golden  service-cup,  and  is  extremely  distempered  with 
drinking;  Goetz  and  Butler  folloiv  him,  endeavouring  to 
keep  him  hack 

ILLO. 

What  do  you  want  ?     Let  me  go 

GOETZ  and  butler. 

Drink  no  more,  Illo !  For  Heaven's  sake,  drink  no  more. 

ILLO  (goes  up  to  octavio,   and  shakes  him  cordially  hy  the 

hand,  and  then  drinks). 

Octavio !    I  bring  this  to  you !    Let  all  grudge  be  drowned 

in  this  friendly  bowl !  I  know  well  enough,  ye  never  loved 

me— Devil  take  me  I — and  I  never  loved  you! — I  am  always 

even  with  people  in  that  way  1     Let  what's   past  be  past — 

that  is,  you  understand — forgotten  !     I  esteem  you  infinitely 

(Embracing  him  repeatedly).     You  have  not  a  dearer  friend 

on  earth  than  I — but  that  you  know.     The  fellow  that  crie?- 

rogue  to  you  calls  me  villain — and  I'll  strangle  him! — m\ 

dear  friend ! 

terzky  {tvhispering  to  him). 
Art  in  thy  senses  ?     For  Heaven's  sake,  Illo,  think  where 
you  are ! 

iLLO  {aloudX 
What  do  you  mean  ? — There  are  none  but  friends  here,  arf 
there?     {Looks  round  the  whole  circle  with  a  jolly  and  tri 
umpliant  air.)     Not  a  sneidier  amongst  us,  thank  Heaven ! 

K  2 


132  THE   PICCOLOMIKl  [aCT  IV. 

TERZKT  (to  BUTLER,  emjerly). 
Take  him  off  with  you,  force  him  off,  I  entreat  you,  Butler ! 

BDTLER   [to  ILLO). 

Field  Marshal !  a  word  with  you.  (Leads  him  to  the 
sideboard) 

ILLO  (cordially). 
A  thousand  for  one;  Fill — Fill  it  once  more  up  to  the 
l>rim.     To  this  gallant  man's  health  ! 

isoLANi  (to  MAX.  who  all  the  while  has  been  staring  on  the 
paper  with  fixed  but  vacant  eyes). 
Slow  and  sure  my  noble  brother ! — Hast  parsed  it  all  yet? 
Some  words  yet  to  go  through ?^ — Ha? 

MAX.  (ivakiny  as  from  a  dream). 
What  am  I  to  do  ? 

TERZKY,  and  at  the  same  time  isolani. 
Sign  your  name.     (Octavio  directs  his  eyes  on  him  with  in 
tense  anxiety  ) 

MAX.  {returns  the  paper). 
Let  it  stay  till  to-morrow.     It  is  business  —to-Adiy  I  am  not 
sufficiently  collected.     Send  it  to  me  to-morrow. 

TERZKT. 

Nay,  collect  yourself  a  little. 

ISOLANI. 

Awake  man!  awake! — Come,  thy  signature,  and  have  done 
with  it!  What!  Thou  art  the  youngest  in  the  whole  company, 
:ind  would  be  wiser  than  all  of  us  together  ?  Look  there  !  thy 
lather  has  signed — we  have  all  signed. 

TERZKY  (to  octavio). 

Use  your  influence.     Instruct  him. 

OCTAVIO. 

My  son  is  at  the  age  of  discretion. 

ILLO  [leaves  the  service-cup  on  the  sideboard). 
What's  the  dispute? 

TERZKY. 

He  declines  subscribing  the  paper 

MAX. 

I  say,  it  may  as  well  stay  till  to-morrow. 

ILLO. 

Tt  cannot  stay.  We  have  all  subscribed  to  it — and  SO 
must  you. — You  must  subscribe. 


1 33 
gp^  yjjl  THE   PICCOLOMINT. 

MAX. 

Illo,  good  night ! 

ILLO. 

No!     You  come  not  off  so!     The  Duke  shaU  learn  who  are 
his  friends.  (-4/^  collect  round  Illo  and  Max.) 

MAX. 

What  my  sentiments  are  towards  the  Duke,  the  Duke  knoTva. 
every  one  knows— what  need  of  this  wild  stuff.'* 

ILLO. 

This  is  the  thanks  the  Duke  gets  for  his  partiality  to  Ita 
lians  and  foreigners.    Us  Bohemians  he  holds  for  little  better 
than  dullards— nothing  pleases  him  but  whats  outlandish. 
TERZKY  (in  extreme  embarrassment,  to  the  Commanders,  whc 

at  iLLo's  words  give  a  sudden  start  as  preparing  to  resen: 

iHs'the  wine  that  spealvs,  and  not  his  reason.  Attend  nc^. 
to  him,  1  entreat  you. 

isoLANi  [u-ith  a  hitter  laugh). 
Wine  invents  nothing  :  it  only  tattles. 

ILLO. 

He  who  is  not  with  me  is  against  me.  Your  tender  con 
sciences !  Unless  they  can  slip  out  by  a  back-door,  by  a  puny 
proviso  — 

TERZKV  (interrupting  him). 
He  is  stark  mad— don't  listen  to  him ! 

ILLO  [raising  his  voice  to  the  highest  pitch). 
Unless  they  can  slip  out  by  a  proviso.     What  of  the  pro 
viso  ?     The  devil  take  this  proA-iso  ! 

MAX  (has  his  attention  roused,  and  looks  again  into  the  paper). 
What  is  there  here  then  of  such  perilous  import?    You 
make  me  cui-ious — I  must  look  closer  at  it. 

TERZKY  {in  a  low  voice  to  illo). 
What  are  you  doing,  Illo  ?    You  are  rmning  us. 

TIEFENBACH  (tO  KOLATTO). 

Ay,  ay !  I  observ-ed,  that  before  we  sat  down  to  supper,  it 
was  read  differently. 

GOETZ. 

Why,  I  seemed  to  think  so  too. 


134  THE  PICCOLOMINI.  [aCT  TV. 

ISOLANI. 

What  do  I  care  for  that  ?   Where  there  stand  other  names, 
noiiie  can  stand  too. 

TIEFENBACH. 

Before  supper  there  was  a  certain  proviso  therein,  or  short 
clause,  concerning  our  duties  to  the  Emperor. 

BUTLER  (to  one  of  the  Commanders). 
For  shame,  for  shame !     Bethink  you.     What  is  the  main 
business  here?     The  question  now  is,  whether  we  shall  keep 
our  General,  or  let  liim  retire.     One  must  not  take  these 
things  too  nicely,  and  over-scnipulously. 

ISOLANI  (to  one  of  the  Generals). 
Did  the  Duke  make  any  of  these  provisos  when  he  gave 
you  your  regiment  ? 

TERZKY  (to  GOETZ). 

Or  when  he  gave  you  the  office  of  army-purveyancer,  v;hich 
brings  you  in  yearly  a  thousand  pistoles  ! 

ILLO. 

He  is  a  rascal  who  makes  us  out  to  be  rogues.     If  there  be 
any  one  that  wants  satisfaction,  let  him  say  so, — I  am  his  man. 

TIEFENBACH 

Softly,  softly!  'Twas  but  a  word  or  two. 

MAX.  [having  read  the  paper  gives  it  back). 
Till  to-morrow  therefore ! 

iLLO  (stammering  with  rage  and  fury,  loses  all  command  over 
himself,  and  presents  the  paper  to  max.  with  one  hand,  and 
his  sword  in  the  other). 

Subscribe —Judas ! 

ISOLANI. 

Out  upon  you,  lUo ! 

ocTAVio,  TERZKY,  BUTLER  (all  together) 
Down  with  the  sword! 

MAX.  (rushes  on  him  suddenly  and  di'kirms  him,  then  to  COUNI 

terzky). 
Take  him  oflE  to  bed. 

[Max.  leaves  the  stage. — Illo  cursing  and  raving  is  held 
back  by  some  of  the  Oncers,  and  amidst  a  universal 
confusion  the  Curtain  drops. 


ACT  V.   SC.   I.]  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  13o 

ACT  V 

Scene  I. 

A  Chamber  in  Piccolomini  s  Mansion.— It  is  Night 

OcTAvio  Piccolomini.     A  Valet  de  Cbambre  ivith  UghUs 

OCTAVIO. 

And  when  my  son  comes  in,  conduct  him  hither. 

What  is  the  hour? 

VALET. 

Tis  on  the  point  of  monung 

OCTAVIO. 

Set  down  the  light.     We  mean  not  to  undress. 

You  may  retire  to  sleep.  , 

\Exit  Valet.  Octavio  paces,  musing,  across  the  chantr 
her ;  Max.  Piccolomini  enters  unobserved,  and  looks 
at  his  father  for  some  moments  in  silence 

MAX. 

Art  thou  offended  with  me  ?  Heaven  knows 

That  odious  business  was  no  fault  of  mme. 

Tis  true,  indeed,  I  saw  thy  signature. 

What  thou  hadst  sanction'd,  should  not,  it  might  seem, 

Have  come  amiss  to  me.     But-'tis  my  natuxe- 

Thou  know'st  that  in  such  matters  I  must  follow 

My  own  light,  not  another's. 

OCTAVIO  [goes  up  to  him  and  embraces  him) 
Follow  it, 
O  follow  it  still  further,  my  best  son  ! 
To-ni«ht,  dear  boy  !  it  hath  more  faithfully 
Guided  thee  than  the  example  of  thy  father 

MAX. 

Declare  thyself  less  darkly. 

OCTAVIO 

I  will  do  so ; 
For  after  what  has  taken  place  this  night, 
There  must  remain  no  secrets  'twLxt  us  two. 

[Both  seat  themselves. 

Max  Piccolomini!  what  thinkest  thou  of 
The  oath  that  was  sent  round  for  signatures? 

MAX 

I  hold  it  for  a  thing  of  harmless  import. 
Although  I  love  not  these  set  declarations 


136  THE   PICCOLOMINI  [aCT  V. 

OCTAVIO. 

And  on  no  other  ground  hast  thou  refused 
The  signature  they  fain  had  wrested  from  tliee^ 

MAX. 

It  •was  a  serious  business 1  was  absent — 

The  affair  itself  seem'd  not  so  urgent  to  me. 

OCTAVIO. 

Be  open,  Max.     Thou  hadst  then  no  suspicion  ? 

MAX. 

Suspicion !  what  suspicion  ?    Not  the  least. 

OCTAVIO. 

ITiank  thy  good  angel,  Piccolomini : 

He  drew  thee  back  unconscious  from  the  abyss. 

MAX. 

I  know  not  what  thou  meanest. 

OCTAVIO. 

I  will  tell  thee, 
^ain  would  they  have  extorted  from  thee,  son, 
The  sanction  of  thy  name  to  villany ; 
Yes,  with  a  single  flourish  of  thy  pen, 
Made  thee  renounce  tliv  duty  and  thy  honour ! 

MAX.  [rises). 
Octavio ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Patience  I  Seat  yourself.     Much  yet 
Hast  thou  to  hear  from  me,  friend  I — hast  for  years 
Lived  in  incomprehensible  illusion. 
Before  thine  eyes  is  Treason  drawing  out 
As  black  a  web  as  e'er  was  spun  for  venom: 
A  power  of  hell  o'erclouds  thy  understanding. 
I  dare  no  longer  stand  in  silence — dare 
"No  longer  see  thee  wandering  on  in  darkness, 
Nor  pluck  the  bandage  from  thine  eyes. 

MAX. 

My  father  ! 
iTet,  ere  thou  speakest,  a  moment's  pause  of  thought ! 
If  your  disclosures  should  appear  to  be 
Conjectures  only — and  almost  I  fear 
They  will  be  nothing  further — spare  them !  I 
Am  not  in  that  collected  mood  at  present, 
That  J  conld  listen  to  them  quietly 


SC.  I.] 


THE    PICCOLOMINI  137 


OCTA'ST^O. 

The  deeper  cause  thou  hast  to  hate  this  light. 

The  more  impatient  cause  have  I,  my  sou, 

To  force  it  ou  thee.     To  the  innocence 

And  wisdom  of  thy  heart  I  could  have  trusted  thee 

"With  calm  assurance — but  I  see  the  net 

Preparing— and  it  is  thy  heart  itself 

Alarms  me  for  thiae  innocence— that  secret, 

[Fixing  his  eyes  stedfasthj  on  his  sonsJ(tc$ 
Which  thou  concealesl,  forces  mine  from  me. 

[max.  attempts  to  answer,  but  hesitates,  and   casts  /us 
eyes  to  the  ground  embarrassed. 
ocTAVio  {after  a  pause). 
Know,  then,  they  are  duping  thee !— a  most  foul  game 
With  thee  and  with  us  all— nay,  hear  me  calmly— 
The  Duke  even  now  is  playing.     He  assumes 
The  mask,  as  if  he  would  forsake  the  army ; 
And  in  this  moment  makes  he  preparations 
That  army  from  the  Emperor  to  steal, 
And  carry  it  over  to  the  enemy! 

MAX. 

That  low  Priest's  legend  I  know  well,  but  did  not 
Expect  to  hear  it  from  thy  mouth. 

OCTAVIO. 

That  mouth. 
From  which  thou  heai-est  it  at  this  present  momeut. 
Doth  warrant  thee  that  it  is  no  Priest's  legend. 

MAX 

How  mere  a  maniac  they  supposed  the  Duke ; 
"What,  he  can  meditate ?— the  Duke?— can  dream 
That  he  can  lure  away  full  thirty  thousand 
Tried  troops  and  true',  all  honourable  soldiers, 
More  than  a  thousand  noblemen  among  them, 
From  oaths,  from  duty,  from  their  honour  lure  the^i, 
And  make  them  all  unanimous  to  do 
A  deed  that  brands  them  scoundrels  ? 

OCTAVIO 

Such  a  deed. 
With  such  a  front  of  infamy,  the  Duke 
No  way  desires — what  he  requires  of  us 


138  TIIE    PICCOLOMINI.  [ACT 

Bears  a  far  gentler  appellation.     Nothing 
He  wishes,  but  to  give  the  Empire  peace. 
And  so,  because  the  Emperor  hates  this  peace, 
Therefore  the  Duke — the  Duke  will  force  him  to  it. 
All  parts  of  the  Empire  will  he  pacify, 
And  for  his  trouble  will  retain  in  payment 
(What  he  has  already  in  his  gripe)— Bohemia ! 

MAX. 

Has  he,  Octavio,  merited  of  us. 

That  we— that  we  should  think  so  vilely  of  hiiu  ? 

OCTAVIO. 

What  we  would  think  is  not  the  question  here, 
The  affair  speaks  for  itself— and  clearest  proofs! 
Hear  me,  my  son— 'tis  not  unknown  to  thee, 
In  what  ill  credit  with  the  Court  we  stand. 
But  little  dost  thou  know,  or  guess,  what  tricks. 
What  base  intrigues,  what  lying  artifices, 
Have  been  employed — for  this  sole  end — to  sov; 
Mutiny  in  the  camp !     All  bands  are  loosed — 
Loosed  all  the  bands,  that  link  the  officer 
To  his  liege  Emperor,  all  that  bind  the  soldier 
Affectionately  to  the  citizen 
Lawless  he  stands,  and  threateningly  beleaguers 
The  state  he's  bound  to  guard      To  such  a  height; 
*Tis  swoln,  that  at  this  hour  the  Emperor 
Before  his  armies— his  own  armies— trembles; 
Yea,  in  his  capital,  nis  palace,  fears 
The  traitors'  poniards,  and  ii?  meditating 

To  hurry  off  and  hide  his  tender  offspring 

Not  from  the  Swedes,  not  from  the  Lutherans — Ho » 
From  his  own  troops  to  hide  and  hurry  them ! 

MAX. 

Cease,  cease !  thou  torturest,  shatterest  me      I  know 
That  oft  we  tremble  at  an  empty  terroni 
But  the  false  phantasm  brings  a  real  misery. 

OCTAVIO 

It  is  no  phantasm.     An  intestine  war, 
Of  all  the  most  unnatural  and  cruel. 
Will  burst  out  into  flames,  if  instantly 
We  do  not  fly  and  stifle  it.     The  Generals 


g^    J  1  THE    PICCOLOMINI. 

Are  many  of  them  long  ago  won  over ; 
The  subalterns  are  vacillating — -whole 
Kegiments  and  ganisons  are  vacillating. 
To  foreigners  our  strongholds  are  entrusted ; 
To  that  suspected  Schafgotch  is  the  whole 
Force  of  Silesia  given  up  :  to  Terzky 
Five  regiments,  foot  and  horse— to  Isokai, 
To  Illo,  Kinsky,  Butler,  the  best  troops. 

MAX. 

Likewise  to  both  of  us. 

OCTAVIO. 

Because  the  Duke 
Believes  he  has  secured  us— means  to  lure  us 
Still  further  on  by  splendid  promises. 
To  me  he  portions  forth  the  princedoms,  Glatz 
And  Sagan ;  and  too  plain  I  see  the  bait 
With  which  he  doubts  not  but  to  catch  thee 

MAX. 

No !  no  1 
I  tell  thee— no ! 

OCTAVTO. 

0  open  yet  thine  eyes ! 
And  to  what  purpose  think'st  thou  he  has  called 
Hither  to  Pilsen?— to  avail  himself 
Of  our  advice  ?— 0  when  did  Friedland  ever 
Need  our  advice  ?— Be  calm,  and  listen  to  me 
To  sell  ourselves  are  we  called  hither,  and 
Decline  we  that— to  be  his  hostages. 
Therefore  doth  noble  G  alias  stand  aloof ; 
Thy  father,  too,  thou  wouldst  not  have  seen  her 3, 
If  hif^her  duties  had  not  held  him  fetter 'd 

MAX. 

He  makes  no  secret  of  it— needs  make  none— 
That  we're  called  hither  for  his  sake  -he  owns  it 
He  needs  our  aidance  to  maintain  himself— 
He  did  so  much  for  us ;  and  'tis  but  fair 
That  we,  too,  should  do  somewhat  now  for  hin. 

OCTAVIO. 

And  Imow'st  thou  what  it  is  which  we  must  do? 
That  Illo's  drunken  mood  letray'd  it  to  thee. 


139 


140  THE   PICCOLO  MINT  [ACT  V. 

Bethink  thyself— what  hast  thou  heard,  what  seen? 
The  counterfeited  paper— the  omission 
Of  that  particular  clause,  so  full  of  meaning. 
Does  it  not  prove,  that  they  would  bind  us  down 
To  nothing  good? 

MAX. 

That  counterfeited  paper 
Appears  to  me  no  other  than  a  trick 
Of  lUo's  own  device.     These  underhand 
Traders  in  great  men's  interests  ever  use 
To  urge  and  hurry  all  things  to  the  extreme. 
They  see  the  Duke  at  variance  with  the  Court, 
And  fondly  think  to  serve  him,  when  they  widen 
The  breach  irreparably.     Trust  me,  father, 
The  Duke  knows  nothing  of  all  this. 

OCTAVIO. 

It  grieves  me 
That  I  must  dash  to  earth,  that  I  must  shatter 
A  faith  so  specious ;  but  I  may  not  spare  thee ! 
For  this  is  not  a  time  for  tenderness. 
Thou  must  take  measm-es,  speedy  ones — must  act. 
I  therefore  will  confess  to  thee,  that  all 
Wliicli  I've  entrusted  to  thee  now — that  all 
Which  seems  to  thee  so  unbelievable. 
That — yes,  I  will  tell  thee— {a  pause)— Max. !  I  had  it  all 
From  his  own  mouth — from  the  Duke's  mouth  I  had  it. 

MAX  {in  excessive  agitation) 
No! — no  1— never! 

OCTAVIO. 

Himself  confided  to  me 
What  I,  'tis  true,  had  long  before  discovered 
By  other  means — himself  confided  to  me. 
That  'twas  his  settled  plan  to  join  the  Swedes; 
And,  at  the  head  of  the  united  armies, 
Compel  the  Emperor 

MAX 

He  is  passionate, 
The  Court  has  stxing  him — he  is  sore  all  over 
With  injuries  and  affronts ;  and  m  a  moment 
Of  irritation,  what  if  he,  for  once, 
Forgot  himself?    He's  an  impetuous  man. 


BC  T.] 


THE  PICCOLOMINI. 


141 


OCTAVIO 

Nay,  in  cold  blood  he  did  confess  this  to  me 
And  having  construed  my  astonishment 
Into  a  scruple  of  his  power,  he  showed  me 
His  written  evidences— showed  me  letters. 
Both  from  the  Saxon  and  the  Swede,  that  gave 
Promise  of  aidance,  and  defined  the  amount. 

MAX. 

It  cannot  be !— can  not  be  \—can  not  be ! 

Dost  thou  not  see,  it  cannot ! 

Thou  wouldst  of  necessity  have  showTi  him 

Such  horror,  such  deep  loathing— that  or  he 

Bad  taken  thee  for  his  better  genms,  or 

Thou  stood'st  not  now  a  li\'ing  man  before  me— 

OCTAVIO. 

1  have  laid  open  my  objections  to  him, 
Dissuaded  him  wth  pressing  eaniestness  ; 
But  my  abhorrence,  the  full  sentiment 
Of  mywhole  heart— that  1  have  still  kept  sacred 
To  my  own  consciousness. 

MAX. 

And  thou  hast  been 
So  treacherous  ?     That  looks  not  like  my  father  I 
I  trusted  not  thy  words,  when  thou  didst  tell  me 
Evil  of  him ;  much  less  can  I  now  do  it. 
That  thou  calumniatest  thy  own  self 

OCTAVIO. 

I  did  not  thrust  myself  into  his  secrecy 

MAX. 

Uprightness  merited  his  confidence. 

OCTAVIO 

He  was  no  longer  worthy  of  sincerity 

WAX. 

Dissimulation,  sure,  was  still  less  worthy 
Of  thee,  OcUvio '. 

OCTAVIO 

Gave  I  him  a  cause 
To  entertain  a  scruple  of  my  honour? 

MAX 

That  he  did  not  ennced  his  confidouce 


142  THE  piccoLOAnNi.  [act  v. 


Dear  son,  it  is  not  always  possible 

Still  to  preserve  that  infant  purity 

Which  the  voice  teaches  in  our  inmost  heart. 

Still  in  alarm,  for  ever  on  the  watch 

Against  the  wiles  of  wicked  men  :  e'en  Virtue 

Will  sometimes  bear  away  her  outward  robes 

Soiled  in  the  wrestle  with  Iniquity. 

This  is  the  curse  of  every  evil  deed, 

That,  propagating  still,  it  brings  forth  evil. 

I  do  not  cheat  my  better  soul  with  sophisms ; 

I  but  perform  my  orders  ;  the  Emperor 

Prescribes  my  conduct  to  me.     Dearest  boy. 

Far  better  were  it,  doubtless,  if  we  all 

Obey'd  the  heart  at  all  times ;  but  so  doing. 

In  this  our  present  sojourn  ^vith  bad  men. 

We  must  abandon  many  an  honest  object. 

Tis  now  our  call  to  sen'e  the  Emperor ; 

By  what  means  he  can  best  be  served — the  heart 

May  whisper  what  it  will — this  is  our  call ! 

MAX 

It  seems  a  thing  appointed,  that  to-day 

I  should  not  comprehend,  not  understand  thee 

The  Duke,  thou  say'st,  did  honestly  pour  out 

His  heart  to  thee,  but  for  an  e\  il  purpose : 

And  thou  dishonestly  hast  cheaied  him 

For  a  good  purpose  !     Silence,  I  entreat  thee — 

My  friend,  thou  stealest  not  from  me — 

Let  me  not  lose  my  father ! 

ocTAVio  [suppressing  resentment). 
A.8  yet  thou  Imow'st  not  all,  my  son.  I  have 
Yet  somewhat  to  disclose  to  thee.  [After  a  pause. 

Duke  Fried  land 
Hath  made  his  preparations.     He  relies 
Upon  his  stars.    He  deems  us  unprovided, 
And  thinks  to  fall  upon  us  by  surprise. 
Yea,  in  his  dream  of  hope,  he  grasps  already 
The  golden  circle  in  his  hand.     He  errs, 
We,  too,  have  been  in  action — he  but  gi'asps 
His  evil  fate,  most  evil,  most  mysterious! 


gC,  I.]  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  143 

MAX. 

O  nothing  rash,  my  sire  I     By  all  that's  good 
Let  me  invoke  thee — no  precipitation  I 

OCTAVIO. 

With  light  tread  stole  he  on  his  evil  way, 
And  Hght  of  tread  hath  Vengeance  stole  on  after  hia 
Unseen  she  stands  already,  dark  behind  him — 
But  one  step  more— he  shudders  in  her  grasp ! 
Thou  hast  seen  Questenberg  with  me.     As  yet 
Thou  know'st  but  his  ostensible  commission ; 
He  brought  with  him  a  private  one,  my  son ! 
And  that  was  for  me  only. 

MAX. 

May  I  know  it? 
OCTAVIO  {seizes  the  patent). 


In  this  disclosui-e  place  I  in  thy  hands 

The  Empire s  welfare  and  thy  fathers  life : 
Dear  to  thy  inmost  heart  is  Wallenstein  ; 
A  powerful  tie  of  love,  of  veneration. 
Hath  knit  thee  to  him  from  thy  earliest  youth. 
Thou  noui-ishest  the  tcish, — O  let  me  still 
Anticipate  thy  loitering  confidence  ! 
The  hope  thou  nomishest  to  knit  thyself 
Yet  closer  to  him 

MAX. 

Father 


Max.! 

(A  pause. 


OCTAVIO. 

O,  my  son! 
I  trust  thy  heart  undoubtingly.     But  am  1 
Equally  sure  of  thy  collectedness  ? 
Wilt  thou  be  able,  ^vith  calm  countenance. 
To  enter  this  man's  presence,  when  that  I 
Have  trusted  to  thee  nis  whole  fate  ? 

MAX. 

According 
As  thou  dost  trust  me,  father,  with  his  crime. 

[OcTAVio  takes  a  paper  out  of  his  escrutoire, 
and  'jircs  it  to  liim 


14:4  THfl  piccoLoauNi  [asi;  y. 

MAX. 

What !  how !  a  full  Imperial  patent ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Read  it 
MAX.  {jitst  glances  on  it). 
Duke  Friedland  sentenced  and  condemn'd ! 

OCTTAVIO. 

Even  so. 

MAX.  (throivs  down  the  paper). 
O  this  is  too  much !  0  unhappy  error ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Read  on      Collect  thyself. 

UAX  {after  he  has  read  further,  ivith  a  look  of  affnjht  and 
astonishment  on  his  father). 

How"!  what!  Thou!  thoul 

OCTAVIO. 

But  for  the  present  moment,  till  the  King 
Of  Hungary  may  safely  join  the  army, 
Is  the  command  assign 'd  to  me. 

MAX. 

And  think'st  thou, 
Dost  thou  helieve,  that  thou  wilt  tear  it  from  him** 
O  never  hope  it ! — Father !  father !  father ! 
An  inauspicious  office  is  enjoiu'd  thee. 
This  paper  here — tliis  !  and  wilt  thou  enforce  it? 
The  mighty  in  the  middle  of  his  host, 
Surrounded  by  his  thousands,  him  wouldst  thou 
Disarm — degrade  !  Thou  art  lost,  both  thou  and  all  of  ns. 

OCTAVIO. 

What-hazard  I  incur  thereby,  I  know 
In  the  great  hand  of  God  I  stand.     The  Almighty 
Will  cover  with  his  shield  the  Imperial  house, 
And  shatter,  in  his  -wrath,  the  work  of  darkness. 
The  Emporor  hath  true  servants  still ;  and  evea 
Here  in  the  camp,  there  are  enough  brave  men 
Who  for  the  good  cause  will  fight  gallantly. 
The  faithful  have  been  wam'd — the  dangerous 
Are  closely  watch'd.     I  wait  but  the  first  step, 
And  then  immediately — 


SC.  I,]  THE   PICCOLOMINI.  145 


MAX 

What!  on  suspicion? 
Immediately  ? 

OCTAVIO. 

The  Emperor  is  no  tyrant 
The  deed  alone  he'll  punish,  not  the  wish. 
The  Duke  hath  yet  his  destiny  in  his  power. 
Let  him  but  leave  the  treason  uncompleted. 
He  -nill  be  silently  displaced  from  office, 
And  make  way  to  his  Emperor's  royal  son 
An  honourable  exile  to  his  castles 
Will  be  a  benefaction  to  him  rather 
Than  punishment.     But  the  first  open  step — 

MAX. 

'What  callest  thou  such  a  step  ?    A  wicked  step 
Ne'er  mil  he  take  ;  but  thou  mightest  easily, 
Yea,  thou  hast  done  it,  misinterpret  him 

OCTAVIO. 

Nav,  howsoever  punishable  were 

Duke  Friedland's  purposes,  yet  still  the  steps 

Which  he  hath  taken  openly,  permit 

A  mild  construction.     It  is  my  intention 

To  leave  this  paper  wholly  mienforced 

Till  some  act  is  committed  which  convicts  him 

Of  high  treason,  without  doubt  or  plea. 

And  that  shall  sentence  him 

StAX. 

But  who  the  judge  ? 

OCTAVIO. 

Thyself 

MAX. 

For  ever,  then,  this  paper  will  lie  idle. 

OCTAVIO. 

Too  soon,  I  fear,  its  powers  must  all  be  proved. 
After  the  counter  promise  of  this  evening. 
It  cannot  be  but  he  must  deem  himself 
Secure  of  the  majority  with  us  ; 
And  of  the  army's  general  sentiment 
He  hath  a  pleasing  proof  in  that  petition, 

L 


14G  THE    PICCOLOMINI.  [ACT  V. 

Which  thou  delivered'st  to  him  from  the  regimenta. 
Add  this  too — I  have  letters  tliat  the  Rhiaegrave 
Hath  changed  his  route,  and  travels  by  forced  marches 
To  the  Bohemian  forests.     What  this  purports 
Remains  unknown  ;  and,  to  confirm  suspicion, 
This  night  a  Swedish  nobleman  arrived  here. 

MAX. 

I  have  thy  word.     Thoult  not  proceed  to  action 
Before  thou  hast  convinced  me — me  myself. 

OCTAVIO. 

Is  it  possible  ?     Still,  after  all  thou  know'st. 
Canst  thou  believe  still  in  his  innocence  ? 

MAX.  {icith  enlliusiasm). 
Thy  judgment  may  mistake  ;  my  heart  can  not. 

[Moderates  his  voice  and  manner. 
These  reasons  might  expound  thy  spirit  or  mine ; 
But  they  expound  not  Friedland — I  have  faith : 
For  as  he  knits  his  fortunes  to  the  stars, 
Even  so  doth  he  resemble  them  in  secret, 
Wonderful,  still  inexplicable  courses  ! 
Trust  me,  they  do  him  wrong.     All  will  be  solved. 
These  smokes  at  once  will  kindle  into  flame — 
The  edges  of  this  black  and  stormy  cloud 
Will  brighten  suddenly,  and  we  shall  view 
The  Unapproachable  glide  out  in  splendour. 

OCTAVIO. 

I  will  awjiit  it. 

Scene  II 

OcT^vio   and    Max.    as  hrfore.     To   them  the   Va'-rt    <f  the 

Chamher 

OCTAVIO. 

How  now,  then  ? 

VALET. 

A  despatch  is  at  the  door. 

OCTAVIO. 

So  early?    From  whom  comes  he  then  ?    Who  is  it? 

VALET 

That  he  refused  to  tell  me. 


gC.  II.]  THE    PICCOLOMrS'I.  I'i^ 

OCTAVIO. 

Lead  liiru  in 

And.  hark  you— let  it  not  transpire. 

[Exit  Valet ;  the  Cornet  steps  m. 

OCTAVIO. 

Ha !  Comet— IS  it  vou  ?  and  from  Count  Gallas  ? 
Give  me  your  letters 

CORNET. 

The  Lieutenant-General 
Trusted  it  not  to  letters. 

OCTAVIO. 

And  what  is  it  ? 

CORNET. 

He  bade  me  tell  vou— Dare  I  speak  openly  here? 

OCTAVIO 

My  son  luiows  all 

CORNET. 

We  have  him 

OCTAVIO. 

Whom? 


Secina, 


CORN'ET 

The  old  negociator. 

OCTAVIO  {eagerly). 
And  you  have  him.  ? 

CORNET. 

In  the  Bohemian  Forest  Captain  Mohrbrand 
Found  and  secured  him  yester  morning  early . 
B  e  was  proceeding  then  to  Eegensburg, 
And  on  him  were  despatches  for  the  Swede 

OCTAVIO. 

And  the  despatches 

CORNET 

The  Lieutenant-Genera  I 
Sent  them  that  instant  to  Vienna,  and 
The  prisoner  with  them. 

OCTAVIO. 

This  is,  indeed,  a  tiding ! 
That  fellow  is  a  precious  casket  to  us.  ,       ,  .     ,. 

Enclosing  weighty  things.— Was  much  found  en  him  ( 


148  THE   PICCOLOMINI.  [40T   V. 

CORNET. 

I  think,  six  packets,  -vvitli  Count  Terzky'a  arms. 

OCTAVIO. 

Nrne  in  the  Duke's  ovm.  hand? 

CORNET. 

Not  that  I  know 

OCTAVIO 

And  old  Sesina  ? 

CORNET 

He  was  sorely  frighten'd. 
When  it  was  told  him  he  must  to  Vienna 
But  the  Count  Altringer  bade  him  take  heart. 
Would  he  but  make  a  full  and  free  confession 

OCTAVIO. 

Is  Altringer  then  with  your  Lord  ?  I  heard 
That  he  lay  sick  at  Linz. 

CORNET. 

These  three  days  past 
He's  with  my  master,  the  Lieutenant- General, 
At  Frauenbm-g.     Already  have  they  sixty 
Small  companies  together,  chosen  men  ; 
Respectfully  they  greet  you  with  assurances, 
That  they  are  only  waiting  your  commands 

OCTAVIO. 

In  a  few  days  may  great  events  take  place. 
And  when  must  you  return  ? 

CORNET. 

I  wait  your  orders, 

OCTAVIO. 

Eemain  till  evening. 

Cornet  signifies  Jiis  assent  and  obeisance,  and  is  f/o'iiji 
No  one  saw  you — ha  ? 

CORNET. 

No  living  creature.     Through  the  cloister  wicket 
The  Capuchins,  as  usual,  let  me  in. 

OCTAVIO. 

Go,  rest  your  limbs,  and  keep  yourself  concoal  d, 
I  hold  it  probable,  that  yet  ere  evening 
I  shall  despatch  you      The  development 


go   m  T  THE  PICCOLOMINI.  ^^^ 

Of  this  affair  approaclies :  ere  tlie  day. 
That  even  now  is  dawning  in  the  heaven. 
Ere  this  eventful  day  hath  set,  the  lot 
That  must  decide  our  fortunes  will  be  drawn. 

[Exit  Ck)BNi:T. 

Scene  HE. 
OcTAVio  and  Max.    Piccolomini. 

OCTAVIO. 

■Wen— and  what  now,  son  i"    AJl  will  soon  be  clear ; 

For  all,  I'm  certain,  went  tlirougb  that  Sesina. 

MAX.     (who  through  the  whole  of  the  foregoing   scene  has 

been  in  a  violent  and  visible  struggle  of  feelings,  at  lengt/i 

starts  as  one  resolved.) 
I  will  procure  me  light  a  shorter  way. 
Farewell. 


OCTAVIO. 

Where  now  ? — Eemain  here. 

MAX. 


To  the  Duke. 


OCTAVIO  (alarmed). 

"What 

MAX  (returning). 
If  thou  hast  believed  that  I  shall  act 

A  part  in  this  thy  play Thou  hast 

Miscalculated  on  me  grievously. 

My  way  must  be  straight  on.    True  with  the  tongue. 

False  with  the  heart— I  may  not,  cannot  be : 

Nor  can  I  suffer  that  a  man  should  trust  me— 

As  his  friend  trust  me— and  then  lull  my  conscience 

With  such  low  pleas  as  these :— "  I  ask  him  not— 

He  did  it  all  at  his  own  hazard— and 

My  mouth  has  never  lied  to  him."— No,  no  1 

What  a  friend  takes  me  for,  that  I  must  be. 

—I'll  to  the  Duke  ;  ere  yet  this  day  is  ended 

Will  I  demand  of  him  that  he  do  save 

His  good  name  from  the  world,  and  with  one  stride 

Break  through  and  rend  this  fine-spun  web  of  yours. 

He  can,  he  will  \—I  still  am  his  believer 

Yet  I'll  not  pledge  myself,  but  that  those  letters 


150 


SHE    PICCOLOMINI  [ACT  V. 


May  furnish  you,  perchance,  with  proofs  against  him. 

How  far  may  not  this  Terzky  have  proceeded— 

What  may  not  he  himself  too  have  permitted 

Himself  to  do,  to  snare  the  enemy, 

The  laws  of  war  excusing  ?     Notliing,  save 

His  own  mouth  shall  comact  him— nothing  lessl 

And  face  to  face  will  I  go  question  him. 

OCTAVIO 

Thou  wilt  ? 

MAX. 

I  will,  as  sure  as  this  heart  beats. 

OCTAVIO. 

I  have,  indeed,  miscalculated  on  thee. 
I  calculated  on  a  prudent  son, 
Who  would  have  bless'd  the  hand  beneficent 
That  pluck'd  him  back  from  the  abyss— and  lo  ! 
A  fascinated  bemg  I  discover. 
Whom  his  two  eyes  befool,  whom  passion  wilders, 
Whom  not  the  broadest  light  of  noon  can  heal. 
Go,  question  him  ! — Be  mad  enough,  I  pray  thee. 
The  purpose  of  thy  father,  of  thy  Emperor, 
Go,  give  it  up  free  booty ! — Force  me,  drive  me 
To  an  open  breach  before  the  time.     And  now 
Now  that  a  miracle  of  Heaven  had  guarded 
My  secret  purpose  even  to  this  hour, 
And  laid  to  sleep  Suspicion's  piercing  eyes, 
Let  me  have  lived  to  see  that  mine  own  son. 
With  frantic  enterprise,  annihilates 
My  toilsome  labours  and  state-policy. 

MAX. 

Ay — this  state  policy?     0  how  I  curse  it ! 

You  will  some  time,  with  your  state-policy, 

Compel  him  to  the  measure  :  it  may  happen, 

Because  ye  are  detei-mined  that  he  is  guilty. 

Guilty  ye'll  make  him.     All  retreat  cut  off, 

You  close  up  every  outlet,  hem  him  in 

Narrower  and  narrower,  till  at  length  ye  force  him— 

Yes,  ye,  ye  force  him,  in  his  desperation, 

To  set  lire  to  his  prison.     Father  !  father ! 

That  never  can  end  well     it  cnnnot — will  not ! 


QC.  ni.l  ^iiE  piccoix-Mrsi.  151 

And  let  it  be  decided  as  it  may, 

I  see  with  boding  heart  tfee  near  approach 

Of  an  ill-starr'd,  uublest  catastrophe. 

For  this  great  Monarch-spirit,  if  he  fall, 

Will  drag  a  world  into  the  ruin  with  him. 

And  as  a  ship  (that  midway  on  the  ocean 

Takes  fire)  at  once,  and  with  a  thunder-burst 

Explodes,  and  with  itself  shoots  out  its  crew 

In  smoke  and  ruin  bet\vixt  sea  and  heaven ! 

So  will  he,  falling,  draw  dovm  in  his  fall 

All  us,  who 're  fix'd  and  mortised  to  his  fortune 

Deem  of  it  what  thou  wilt ;  but  pardon  me, 

That  I  must  bear  me  on  in  my  own  way 

All  must  remain  pure  betwixt  him  and  me  : 

And,  ere  the  daylight  dawns,  it  must  be  kno^vn 

Wliich  I  must  lo^e— my  father,  or  my  friend.  _ 

[During  his  exit  the  curtain  drops. 


THE 

DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

t^AiLENSTEiN,   Duke  of  FHedland,   Butler,  an  Irishman,   Commander 

Generalissimo     of    the     Imperial       of  a  Regiment  of  Dragoon*. 

Forces  in  the  Thirty  Years'  War.      Gordon,  Oovernor  of  Egra. 
DocHESs    OF    Friedland,    Wife    of  Major  Geralbin. 

Wallenstein.  Captain  Devereux. 

Thekla,  her  Daughter,  Princess  of  Captain  Macdonald. 

Friedland.  An  Adjutant. 

The  Countess  Terzkt,  Sister  of  the  Neumann,  Captain  of  Cavalry,  Aid^ 

Duchess.  de-camp  to  Terzky, 

Lady  Neubrunn.  Colonel  Wrangkl,  Envoy  from  (h« 

Octavio     Piccolomini,    Lieutenant-       Swedes. 

General.  Rosenburg,  Master  of  Horse. 

Max.  Piccolomini,  his  Son,  Colonel  Swedish  Captain. 

of  a  Regiment  of  Cuirassiers.  Seni. 

Count  Terzky,  the   Commander  of  Burgomaster  of  Egra. 

several  Regiments,  and  Brother-in-   Anspessade  of  the  Cuirassiers, 

law  of  Wallenstein,  Groom  of  the  Cham-  ")  „  ,       .      . 

Illo,  Field  Marshal,    Wallenstein's       ber,  ( /Mongtng  (o 

Confidant,  A  Page,  )  ^'^  ^'^''^• 

IsoLANi,  General  of  the  Croats.  Cuirassiers,  Dragoons,  Servants. 


ACT  I, 

Scene  I. 

A  Room  fitted  up  for  astrological  laoours,  and  provided  with 
celestial  Charts,  with  Globes,  Telescopes,  Quadrants,  and 
other  mathematical  Instruments  — Seven  Colossal  Figures, 
representing  the  Planets,  each  with  a  transparent  Star  of  a 
different  colour  on  its  head,  stand  in  a  semicircle  in  the 
background,  so  that  Mars  and  Saturn  are  nearest  the  eye 
— The  remainder  of  the  Scene,  and  its  disposition,  is  given 
in  the  Fourth  Scene  of  the  Second  Act. — There  must  be  a  Cur~ 
tain  over  the  Figures,  which  may  be  dropped,  and  conceal 
them  on  occasions. 

[[n  the  Fifth  Scene  of  this  Act  it  must  be  dropped ;  but  in  the 
Seventh  Scene,  it  must  be  again  draivn  up  wholly  or  in  part,} 

Wallenstein  at  a  black  Table,  on  ivhich  a  Speculum  Astrolo- 
gicum  is  described  with  Chalk.  Seni  is  taking  Observatloia 
through  a  window. 


St;..  I  1  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLE>'STEIN.  153 

WALLENSTEIX. 

All  well— and  now  let  it  be  ended,  Seni.     Come. 
The  dawn  commences,  and  Mars  rules  the  hour 
We  must  give  o'er  the  operation.     Come, 
We  know  enough. 

SEXI. 

Your  Highness  must  permit  me 
Just  to  contemplate  Venus.     She's  now  rising: 
Like  as  a  sun,  so  shines  she  in  the  east. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

She  is  at  present  in  her  perigee. 

And  now  shoots  down  her  strongest  intluences. 

[Contemplatiiuj  the  figure  on  the  laUe. 
Auspicious  aspect !  fateful  in  conjunction, 
At  length  the  mighty  three  con-adiate ; 
And  the  two  stars  of  blessing,  Jupiter     ^ 
And  Venus,  t^ke  between  them  the  mahgiiant 
Slily-malicious  Mars,  and  thus  compel 
Into  my  service  that  old  mischief-founder: 
For  long  he  viewed  me  hostilely,  and  ever 
With  beam  oblique,  or  perpendicular. 
Now  in  the  Quartile,  now  in  the  Secundan, 
Shot  his  red  lightnings  at  my  stars,  disturbing 
Their  blessed  influences  and  sweet  aspects. 
Now  thev  have  conquer'd  the  old  enemy, 
And  bring  him  in  the  heavens  a  prisoner  to  me. 

SENr  [u-ho  has  come  doicnfrom  the  nindow). 
And  in  a  comer  house,  your  Highness— think  of  that ! 
That  makes  each  influence  of  double  strength. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And  sun  and  moon,  too,  in  the  Sextile  aspect. 
The  soft  light  with  the  vehement— so  I  love  it 
Sol  is  the  heart,  Luna  the  head  of  heaven. 
Bold  be  the  plan,  fiery  the  execution. 

SEN  I. 

And  both  the  mighty  Lumiua  by  no 
Maleficus  affronted.  Lo  !  Saturnus, 
Innocuous,  powerless,  in  cadente  Dome. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  empire  of  Satumus  is  gone  by ; 
Lord  of  the  secret  birth  of  things  is  ho ; 


154  THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN.         [ACT  1. 

Within  the  lap  of  earth,  and  in  the  depths 

Of  the  imagination  dominates  ; 

And  his  are  all  things  that  eschew  the  light. 

The  time  is  o'er  of  brooding  and  contrivance, 

For  Jupiter,  the  lustrous,  lordeth  now, 

And  the  dark  work,  complete  of  preparation, 

He  draws  by  force  into  the  realm  of  light. 

Now  must  we  hasten  on  to  action,  ere 

The  scheme,  and  most  auspicious  positure 

Parts  o'er  my  head,  and  takes  once  more  its  flight. 

For  the  heavens  journey  still,  and  sojourn  not. 

[There  are  knocks  at  the  door. 
There's  some  one  knocking  there.     See  who  it  is. 

TEEZKY  {Jrom  without). 
Open,  and  let  me  in. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Ay — 'tis  Terzky. 
What  is  there  of  such  urge  nee  ?     We  are  busy. 

TERZKY  {from  tcithout). 
Lay  all  aside  at  present,  I  entreat  you. 
It  suffers  no  delaying. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Open,  Seni! 
[While  Seni  ope7is  the  door  for  Terzky,  Wallensteik 
draws  the  curtain  over  the  figures. 

Scene  IL 
Wallenstein.     Count  Terzky 
TERZKY  [enters). 
TIast  thou  already  heard  it?     He  is  taken. 
Vallas  has  given  him  up  to  the  Emperor. 

[Seni  draws  off  the  black  table,  and  exit. 

WALLENSTEIN  [tO  TeRZKY). 

Who  has  been  taken  ?    Who  is  given  up  ? 

TERZKY 

The  man  who  knows  our  secrets,  who  knows  every 
Negociation  with  the  Swede  and  Saxon, 

Thrdugh  whose  hands  all  and  every  thing  has  pass'd • 

WALLENSTEIN  [drawing  back). 
Nay.  not  Sesina? — Sny,  No  !  I  entreat  thee. 


THE    DEALH    OF   WALLENSTEIN. 


155 


SC.  III.] 

TERZKT. 

Ml  on  his  road  fur  Regensburg  to  the  Swede 
He  was  plunged  down  upon  by  Gallas'  agent._ 
T\Tio  had  been  long  in  ambush,  lurking  for  him. 
There  must  have  been  found  on  him  my  whole  packet 
To  Thur.  to  Ivinskv,  to  Oxenstiern.  to  Amheim: 
All  this  is  in  their" hands  ;  they  have  now  an  insight 
Into  the  whole  — our  measures  and  oiu-  motives. 

SCEKE  III. 

To  them  enters  Iixo. 

TLLO  [to  TERZKY). 

Has  he  heard  it  ? 

TEEZKY. 

He  has  heard  it. 
IIXO  {to  wallessteinV 

Thinkest  thou  still 
To  make  thy  peace  with  the  Emperor,  to  regain 
His  confidence  ?     E'en  were  it  now  thy  wish 
To  abandon  all  thv  plans,  yet  still  they  know 
What  thou  hast  wish'd :  then  fonvards  thou  must  press ; 
Retreat  is  now  no  longer  in  thy  power. 

TERZKT 

They  have  documents  against  us.  and  in  hands. 
Which  show  beyond  all  power  of  contradiction — 

WAiLEXSTEtN. 

Of  my  handwriting — no  iota.     Thee 
I  punish  for  thy  lies 

ILLO. 

And  thou  believest, 
That  what  this  man,  and  what  thy  sister's  husband, 
Did  in  thy  name,  will  not  stand  on  thy  reck'mng? 
Ris  word  must  pass  for  thy  word  with  the  Swede, 
Ajid  not  with  those  that  hate  thee  at  Vienna  ? 

TERZKT 

In  wrl".ng  thou  gavest  nothing— But  bethink  thee. 
How  far  thou  venturedst  by  word  of  mouth 
With  this  Sesina  !     And  will  he  be  silent? 
If  he  can  save  himself  by  yielding  up 
Thy  secret  purposes,  will  he  retain  them? 


156  THE  DEATH    OF    WALLENSTEIN.  [ACT  L 

ILLO 

Thyself  dost  not  conceive  it  possible ; 
And  since  they  now  have  evidence  authentic 
How  far  thou  hast  already  gone,  speak! — tell  us, 
What  art  thou  waiting  for?   Thou  canst  no  longer 
Keep  thy  command ;  and  beyond  hope  of  rescue 
Thou  rt  lost,  if  thou  resign'st  it. 

WAIXEKSTEIN. 

In  the  army 
Lies  my  security.     The  army  will  not 
Abandon  me.     Whatever  they  may  know, 
The  power  is  mine,  and  they  must  gulp  it  down— 
And  if  I  give  them  caution  for  my  fealty. 
They  must  be  satisfied,  at  least  appear  so. 

ILLO. 

The  army,  Duke,  is  thine  now — for  this  moment — 
'Tis  thine :  but  think  with  terror  on  the  slow, 
The  quiet  power  of  time.     From  open  violence 
The  attachment  of  thy  soldiery  secures  thee 
To-day — to-morrow :  but  grant'st  thou  them  a  respite. 
Unheard,  xuiseen,  they'll  undermine  that  love 
On  which  tliou  now  dost  feel  so  firm  a  footing, 
With  mly  theft  will  draw  away  from  thee 
One  after  the  other 

WALLENSTEIN. 

'Tis  a  cursed  accident ! 

ILLO. 

Oh  !  I  will  call  it  a  most  blessed  one. 
If  it  work  on  thee  as  it  ought  to  do, 
Hun-y  thee  on  to  action — to  decision. 
The  Swedish  General 

WALLENSTEIN. 

He's  arrived !    Know'st  thou 
What  his  commission  is 

ILLO. 

To  thee  alone 
Will  ne  entrust  the  purpose  of  his  coming. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

A  cursed,  cursed  accident !     Yes,  yes, 
Sesina  knows  too  much,  and  won't  be  silent 


i 


gQ^  ni.l  THE   DEATH    OF    WALLEXSTEIN  157 

TERZKT. 

He's  a  Bohemian  fugitive  and  rebel, 

His  Beck  is  forfeit.     Can  he  save  himself 

At  thy  cost,  think  you  he  will  scruple  it  ? 

And  if  they  put  him  to  the  torture,  will  he, 

Will  he,  that  dastardling,  have  strength  enough—^ 

WAIXENSTEIN  [lost  in  thought). 
Their  confidence  is  lost,  irreparably  ! 
And  I  may  act  -which  way  I  will,  I  shall 
Be  and  remain  for  ever  in  their  thought 
A  traitor  to  my  country.     How  sincerely 
Soever  I  return  back  to  my  duty, 
It  will  no  longer  help  me 

ILLO. 

Ruin  thee, 
That  it  will  do  !     Not  thy  fidelity. 
Thy  weakness  will  be  deemed  the  sole  occasion — 
WALLEXSTEiK  {pacing  up  and  down  in  extreme  agitation] 
What !  I  must  realize  it  now  in  earnest, 
Because  I  toy"d  too  freely  with  the  thought ! 
Accursed  he  who  dallies  with  a  devil ! 
And  must  I — I  must  realize  it  now — 
Now,  while  I  have  the  power,  it  must  take  place  ? 

ILLO. 

Now — now — ere  they  can  ward  and  parry  it ! 

WALLEKSTEIN  (looking  at  the  paper  of  signatures). 
I  have  the  Generals'  word— a  written  promise  ! 
Max. Piccolomini  stands  not  here— how's  that? 

TEBZKY. 

It  was he  fancied 

ILLO. 

Mere  self-willeduess. 
There  needed  no  such  thing  'twixt  him  and  you. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

He  is  quite  right ;  there  needed  no  such  thing. 
The  regiments,  too,  deny  to  march  for  Flanders- 
Have  sent  me  in  a  paper  of  remonstrance 
And  openly  resist  the  Imperial  orders. 
The  first  step  to  revolt's  dready  taken- 


158 


THE   DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIK.  [ACT  I. 


ILLO, 

Believe  me,  thoa  wilt  find  it  far  more  easy 
To  lead  them  over  to  the  enemy 
Than  to  the  Spaniard. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I  will  hear,  however, 
What  the  Swede  has  to  say  to  me 

ILLO  [eagerly  to  tebzky). 

Go,  call  him : 
He  stands  without  the  door  in  waiting. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Stay! 
Stay  but  a  little.     It  hath  taken  me 
All  by  surprise  ;  it  came  too  quick  upon  me  ; 
'Tis  wholly  novel,  that  an  accident. 
With  its  dark  lordship,  and  blind  agency, 
Should  force  me  on  with  it. 

ILLO. 

First  hear  him  only. 
And  after  weigh  it.  [Exeunt  Terzkt  and  Illo. 

Scene  IV. 

WALLENSTEIN  (in  solUoquy). 
Is  it  possible  ? 
Is't  80  ?     I  can  no  longer  what  I  would  ? 
Xo  longer  draw  back  at  my  liking  ?    I 
]\[ust  do  the  deed,  because  I  thought  of  it? 
And  fed  this  heart  here  ^vith  a  dream  ?     Because 
1  did  not  scowl  temptation  from  my  presence, 
Dallied  with  thoughts  of  possible  fulfilment, 
Commenced  no  movement,  left  all  time  uncertain, 
And  only  kept  the  road,  the  access  open  ? 
By  the  great  God  of  Heaven !  it  was  not 
INIy  serious  meaning,  it  was  ne'er  resolved. 
I  but  amused  myself  with  thinldng  of  it. 
The  free-will  tempted  me,  the  power  to  do 
Or  not  to  do  it. — Was  it  criminal 
To  make  the  fancy  minister  to  hope. 
To  fill  the  air  with  pretty  toys  of  air. 
And  clutch  fantastic  sceptres  moving  t'ward  me  ! 
Was  not  the  will  kept  free  ?     Beheld  T  not 


SC.  IV.] 


THE    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  159 


The  road  of  duty  close  beside  me — but 

One  little  step,  and  once  more  I  was  in  it ! 

^Vllere  am  I  ?    Whither  have  I  been  transported  f 

No  road,  no  track  behind  me,  but  a  wall, 

Impenetrable,  insurmountable. 

Rises  obedient  to  the  spells  I  muttered 

And  meant  not — my  own  doings  tower  behind  me. 

\Paiise$  and  remains  in  deep  thought. 
A  punishable  man  I^eegL:  the  guilt, 
Try  what  I  will,  I  cannotjol]  off  from  me ; 
The  equivocal  demeanour  of  my  life 
Bears  witness  on  my  prosecutor's  party. 
And  even  my  purest  acts  from  purest  motives 
Suspicion  poisons  with  malicious  gloss. 
Were  I  that  thing  for  which  I  pass,  that  traitor, 
A  goodly  outside  I  had  sure  reserved. 
Had  drawn  the  coverings  thick  and  double  round  me. 
Been  calm  and  chary  of  my  utterance ; 
But  being  conscious  of  the  innocence 
Of  my  intent,  my  uncorrupted  will, 
I  crave  way  to  my  humours,  to  my  passion : 
Bold  were  my  words,  because  my  deeds  were  not 
Now  every  planless  measure,  chance  event. 
The  threat  of  rage,  the  vaunt  of  joy  and  triumph. 
And  all  the  May-games  of  a  heart  o'erflowiug, 
Will  they  connect,  and  weave  them  all  together 
Into  one' web  of  treason  ;  all  will  be  plan, 
Mv  eye  ne'er  absent  from  the  far-off  mark, 
Step  tracing  step,  each  step  a  politic  progress  ; 
And  out  of  all  they'll  fabricate  a  charge 
So  specious,  that  I  must  myself  stand  dumb. 
T  flin  caught  in  my  ownjiet,  and  o»ly-foi-ce, 
Nou<Jht  but  a  sudden  rent  can  liberate  me. 

^  [Pavses  again. 

How  else !  smce  that  the  heart's  unbiass'd  instinct 
Impell'd  me  to  the  daring  deed,  which  now 
HeceasitXi-Self:^r£S£rs:atiou.  orders. 
Stem  is  the  on-look  of  Necessity, 
Not  without  shudder  may  a  human  hand 
Grasp  the  mysterious  urn  of  destiny. 
My  deed  was  mine,  remaining  in  my  bosom : 


XgQ  THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN .         [aCT  I. 

Ouce  suffer'd  to  escape  from  its  safe  comer 
Within  the  heart,  its  nursery  and  birth-place, 
Sent  forth  into  the  Foreign,  it  belongs 
For  ever  to  those  sly  malicious  powers 
Whom  never  art  of  man  conciliated. 

[Paces  in  agitation  through  the  chamher,  then  pauses,  and, 
after  the  pause,  breaks  out  again  into  audible  suWoqtiy 
What  is  thy  enterprise?  thy  aim?  thy  object? 
Hast  honestly  confess'd  it  to  thyself? 
Power  seated  on  a  quiet  throne  thou'dst  shake. 
Power  on  an  ancient  consecrated  throne, 
Strong  in  possession,  founded  in  all  custom; 
Power  by  a  thousand  tough  and  stringy  roots 
Fix'd  to  the  people's  pious  nursery-faith. 
This,  this  will  be  no  strife  of  strength  with  strength. 
That  fear'd  I  not.     I  brave  each  combatant. 
Whom  I  can  look  on,  fixing  eye  to  eye, 
Who,  full  himself  of  courage,  kindles  courage 
In  me  too.     'Tis  a  foe  invisible 
The  which  I  fear— a  fearful  enemy. 
Which  in  the  human  heart  opposes  me. 
By  its  coward  fear  alone  made  fearful  to  me. 
Not  that,  which  full  of  life,  instinct  with  power, 
Makes  known  its  present  being  ;  that  is  not 
The  true,  the  perilously  formidable. 
O  no  !  it  is  the  common,  the  quite  common. 
The  thing  of  an  eternal  yesterday. 
WTiat  ever  was,  and  evermore  returns. 
Sterling  to-morrow,  for  to-day  'twas  sterling  ! 
For  of  the  wholly  common  is  man  made, 
And  custom  is  his  nurse  i     Woe  then  to  them, 
Who  lay  irreverent  hands  upon  his  old 
House  furniture,  the  dear  inheritance 
From  his  forefathers !     For  time  consecrates ; 
And  what  is  grey  with  age  becomes  religion. 
Be  in  possession,  and  thou  hast  the  right, 
And  sacred  \Nill  the  many  guard  it  for  thee ! 

[To  the  Pagk,  who  here  enten 
The  Swedish  officer?— Well,  let  him  enter. 

[The  Page  exit,  Wallenstein  fixes  his  eye  in  deep 
th.cuqht  on  the  door. 


THE    DEATH   OF   WALLENSTEIN 


161 


sc.  v.] 

Yet  is  it  pure — as  yet  I — the  crime  has  come 
Not  o'er  this  threshold  yet — so  slender  is 
The  boundaiy  that  divide th  life's  two  paths. 

Scene  V. 
"Wallenstein  and  Wraxgel. 
WALLENSTEix  \after  having  fixed  a  searching  looJc  on  him) 
Your  name  is  Wrangel  ? 

WKAXGEL. 

Gustave  Wrangel,  General 
Of  the  Sudermanian  Blues 

WALLEXSTEIN'. 

It  was  a  "Wrangel 
Who  injured  me  materially  at  Stralsund, 
And  by  liis  brave  resistance  was  the  cause 
Of  the  opposition  which  that  sea-port  made 

WRANGEL 

It  was  the  doing  of  the  element 

With  which  you  fought,  my  Lord  !  and  not  my  merit. 

The  Baltic  Neptune  did  assert  his  freedom  : 

The  sea  and  land,  it  seem'd,  were  not  to  serve 

One  and  the  same. 

[^  WAXI.EXSTEIN. 

You  pluck"d  the  Admiral's  hat  from  off  my  head. 

WKAKGEL. 

I  come  to  place  a  diadem  thereon.]] 
RALLENSTEiN  imakes  the  motion  for  him  to  take  a  seat,  and 
seats  himself). 

And  w'here  are  your  credentials? 
Come  you  provided  with  full  powers,  Sir  General  ? 

WRANGEL. 

There  are  so  many  scmples  yet  to  solve 

WALLENSTEiN  {having  read  the  credentials). 
An  able  letter  1 — Ay — he  is  a  prudent 
Intelligent  master  whom  you  serve.  Sir  General! 
The  Chancellor  writes  me,  that  he  but  fulfils 
His  late  departed  Sovereign's  own  idea 
In  holoing  me  to  the  Bohemian  crown. 


1(32  THE    DEATH    OF   WALI.EXSTEIN,  [aCT  I. 

WRANGEL. 

He  says  the  truth.     Ouv  great  King,  now  in  heaven, 

Did  ever  deem  most  highly  of  your  Grace's 

Pre-eminent  sense  and  militarj'  genius  ; 

And  always  the  commanding  Intellect, 

He  said,  should  have  command,  and  be  the  King. 

WALLENSTEIK. 

Yes,  he  mifjht  say  it  safely.— General  Wrangel, 

[Takiiuj  his  hand  affectionately, 
Come,  fair  and  open.     Trust  me,  I  was  always 
A  Swede  at  heart.     Eh  !  that  did  you  experience 
Both  in  Silesia  and  at  Nuremberg  ; 
I  had  you  often  in  my  power,  and  let  you 
Always  slip  out  by  some  back  door  or  other. 
Tis  this  for  which  the  Court  can  ne'er  forgive  me, 
Vfhich  drives  me  to  this  present  step :  and  since 
Our  interests  so  run  in  one  direction, 
E'en  let  us  have  a  thorough  confidence 
Each  in  the  other, 

WRAXGEL. 

Confidence  will  come 
Has  each  but  only  first  security. 

WALLEN  STEIN. 

The  Chancellor  still,  I  see,  does  not  quite  trust  me; 
And.  J  confess^the  game  does  not  lie  wholly 
To  mv  advantage.     "Without  doubt  he  thinks, 
If  I  can  play  false  with  the  Emperor, 
Who  is  my  sovereign,  I  can  do  the  like 
"With  the  enemy,  and  that  the  one  too  were 
Sooner  to  be  forgiven  me  than  the  other. 
Is  not  this  your  opinion  too.  Sir  General  ^ 

WRANGEL. 

I  have  here  a  duty  merely,  no  opiniou 

WAI.LENSTEIN. 

The  Emperor  hath  urged  me  to  the  uttermost : 

I  can  no  longer  honourably  sen^e  him 

For  my  security,  in  self-defence. 

I  take  this  hard  step,  which  my  conscience  blames 

WRANGEL. 

That  I  believe.     So  far  would  no  one  go 

Who  was  not  forced  to  it.  [-i/Ver  a  jausn.^ 


SC.  v.]  THE    DEATH    OF   ^y.\TXE^'STEIK. 


163 


What  inav  have  impeH'cl 
Your  princely  Highness  in  this  wise  to  act 
Toward  your  Sovereign  Lord  and  Emperor, 
Beseems  not  us  to  expound  or  criticise. 
Tne  Swede  is  fighting  for  his  good  old  cause. 
With  his  good  sword  and  conscience.     This  concurranW; 
This  opportunity,  is  in  our  favour. 
And  all  advantages  in  war  ai'e  la\\-ful._ 
We  take  what  offers  without  questioning  ; 
And  if  all  have  its  due  and  just  proportions 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Of  what  then  are  ye  doubting  ?  Of  my  ^^•i^l  ? 

Or  of  my  power?'  I  pledged  me  to  the  Chancellor, 

Would  he  trust  me  with  sixteen  thousand  men, 

That  I  would  instantly  go  over  to  them  _ 

With  eighteen  thousand  of  the  Emperor's  troops 

WRANGEL. 

Your  Grace  is  known  to  be  a  mighty  war-chief. 
To  be  a  second  Attila  and  Pyrrhus. 
'Tis  talked  of  still  ^\^th  fresh  astonishment, _ 
How  some  years  past,  beyond  all  human  faith. 
Y'ou  call'd  an  amiy  forth,  like  a  creation  : 
But  yet 

WALLEK5TEIX. 

But  yet  ? 

WRAXGEL. 

But  Still  the  Chancellor  tliluks. 
It  might  yet  be  an  easier  thing  from  nothing 
To  call  forth  sixty  thousand  men  of  battle, 
Than  to  persuade  one  sixtieth  part  of  them — 

WAIXENSTEIN. 

What  now  ?     Out  with  it.  friend  ? 
wrange;.. 

To  break  tbfiir  oaths. 

WAr.I.ENSTFIX. 

And  he  thinks  .so  ?     He  judges  like  a  Swede. 
And  like  a  Protestant.     Y'ou  Lutherans 
Fight  for  vour  Bi'de.     You  are  interested 
■  About  the'cause  ;  and  with  your  hearts  you  follow 
Your  banners.     Among  you.  whoe'er  deserts 


1G4  THE    DEATH    OK    WAI.LKNSTEIN.  [ACT  1 

To  the  enemy,  liatli  Lroken  covenant 

With  two  Lords  at  one  time.     We've  no  such  fancies. 

YS-RANGEL. 

Great  God  in  Heaven  I     Have  then  the  people  here 
No  house  and  home,  no  fireside,  no  altar  ? 

WALLENSTEIK. 

I  will  explain  that  to  you,  how  it  stands  : — 

The  Austrian  has  a  country,  ay,  and  loves  it, 

And  has  good  cause  to  love  it  — hut  this  army, 

That  calls  itself  the  Imperial,  this  that  houses 

Here  in  Bohemia,  this  has  none — no  country  ; 

This  is  an  outcast  of  all  foreign  lands, 

Unclaim'd  by  town  or  tribe,  to  whom  belongs 

Nothing,  except  the  universal  sun. 

And  this  Bohemian  land  for  which  we  fight 

[^  Loves  not  the  master  whom  the  chance  of  war, 

Not  its  own  choice  or  will,  hath  given  to  it. 

Men  murmur  at  the  oppression  of  their  conscience, 

And  power  hath  only  awed  but  not  appeased  them 

A  glowing  and  avenging  mem'ry  lives 

Of  cruel  deeds  committed  on  these  plains  ; 

How  can  the  son  forget  that  here  his  father 

Was  hunted  by  the  blood-hound  to  the  mass  ? 

A  people  thus  oppress'd  must  still  be  feared, 

Whether  they  suffer  or  avenge  their  wrongs.J 

WRANGEL 

But  then  the  Nobles  and  the  Officers  ? 
Such  a  desertion,  such  a  felony. 
It  is  without  example,  my  Lord  Duke, 
In  the  world's  history. 

WALLENSTEIN 

They  are  all  mine — 
Mine  unconditionally — mine  on  all  terms. 
Not  me,  your  owi  eyes  you  must  trust. 

[He  (lives  him  the  j)a})er  containing  the  ivriiten  oath. 
WiiANGEL  reads  it  through,  and,  having  read  it,  lays 
it  on  the  table,  remaining  silent. 

So  then? 
Now  comprehend  you  ? 


gC^  y  1  THE  DEATH  OF  WaLLENSTEIN.  165 

WEANGEL. 

Comprehend  who  can ! 
My  Lord  Duke,  I  will  let  the  mask  drop — yes  ! 
I've  full  powers  for  a  final  settlement. 
The  Rhinegrave  stands  but  four  days'  march  from  here 
With  fifteen  thousand  men,  and  only  waits 
For  orders  to  proceed  and  join  your  army. 
Those  ordsrs  I  give  out,  immediately 
We're  compromised. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What  asks  the  Chancellor  ? 
WRAXGEL  {considerately}. 
Twelve  regiments,  every  man  a  Swede— my  liead 
The  warranty -and  all  might  prove  at  last 

Only  false  play 

WALLENSTEIN  {starting). 
Sir  Swede ! 
WRANGEL  {caivilij  prnceedinfi) 

Am  therefore  forced 
T'  insist  thereon,  that  he  do  formally. 
Irrevocably  break  with  the  Emperor, 
Else  not  a"  Swede  is  trusted  to  Duke  Friedland. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Come,  brief,  and  open  !     What  is  the  demand  ? 

WBANGEL. 

That  he  forthwith  disarm  the  Spanish  regiments 
Attached  to  the  Emp'ror,  that  he  seize  on  Prague, 
And  to  the  Swedes  give  up  that  city,  with 
The  strong  pass  Egra. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

That  is  much  indeed  ! 
Prague! — Egra's  granted — but — but  Prague  I— 'T won't  do. 
I  give  you  every  security 

Which  you  may  ask  of  me  in  common  reason  — 
But  Prague — Bohemia — these,  Sir  General, 
I  can  myself  protect. 

WRANGEL. 

We  doubt  it  not. 
But  'tis  not  the  protection  that  is  now 
Our  sole  concern.     We  want  security. 


H^Q  THE   DEATH  OP    WALIJiNSTElN.  [ACT  I 

That  \V6  shall  not  expeud  our  men  and  money 
Ail  to  no  purpose. 

WALLENSTEtN. 

Tis  but  reasonable. 

WRANGEL. 

And  till  we  are  indemnified,  so  long 
Stays  Prague  in  pledge. 

WALLEKSTEIX. 

Then  trust  you  us  so  little  ? 
WRANGEL  [rising). 
The  Swede,  if  he  would  treat  well  with  the  German, 
Must  keep  a  sharp  look-out.     We  have  been  call'd 
Over  the  Baltic,  we  have  saved  the  empire 
From  ruin — with  our  best  blood  have  we  sealed 
The  liberty  of  faith,  and  gospeUruth. 
But  now  already  is  the  benefaction 
No  longer  felt,  the  load  alone  is  felt. — 
Ye  look  askance  with  evil  eye  upon  us, 
As  foreigners,  intruders  in  the  empire, 
And  would  fain  send  us,  with  some  paltry  sum 
Of  money,  home  again  to  our  old  forests. 
No,  no  !  my  Lord  Duke!  no!— it  never  was 
For  Judas'  "pay,  for  chhikiug  gold  and  silver, 
That  we  did  leave  our  King  by  the  Great  Stone* 
No,  not  for  gold  and  silver  have  there  bled 
So  many  of  our  Swedish  Nobles— neither 
Will  we,  with  empty  lam-els  for  our  payment, 
Hoist  sail  for  our  own  country.     Citizens 
Will  we  remain  upon  the  soil,  the  which 
Our  IMonarch  conquer'd  for  himself  and  died 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Help  to  keep  down  the  common  enemy, 

And  the  fair  border  land  must  needs  be  yours. 

WRANGEL. 

But  when  the  common  enemy  lies  vanquish'd. 
Who  knits  together. our  new  friendship  then? 
We  know,  Duke  Friedland  !  though  perhaps  the  Swede 

*  A  great  stone  near  LUtzeii,  since  called  the  Swede's  Stone,  the  body  ol 
their  great  king  ha\'ing  been  found  at  the  foot  of  it,  after  the  battle  in  which 
he  lost  his  life. 


SC.  V.  j 


THE    DEATH    OF    WALLKN STEIN.  167 


Ought  not  to  have  laio\v::  it,  that  you  carry  on 

Secret  negociations  with  the  Saxons. 

Who  is  our  warranty,  that  we  are  not 

The  sacrifices  in  those  articles  ^^ 

\Y\nch.  'tis  thoiight  needful  to  conceal  from  us'. 

WALLENSTEIN  (l-ises). 

Think  you  of  something  better,  Gustave  Wrangel  I 
Of  Prague  no  more. 

WRAXGEI.. 

Here  my  commission  ends. 

WAXLENSTEIN. 

Surrender  up  to  you  my  capital ! 

Far  liever  would  I  face  about,  and  step 

Back  to  my  Emperor. 

WRANGEL. 

If  time  yet  permits — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

That  lies  with  me,  even  now,  at  any  hour. 

WBANGEL. 

Some  days  ago,  perhaps.     To-day,  no  longer ; 
No  longer  since  Sesina's  been  a  prisoner. 

[Waixenstein  is  struck,  and  silenced. 
My  Lord  Duke,  hear  me— We  believe  that  you 
At  present  do  mean  honourably  by  us. 
Since  yesterday  we're  sure  of  that— and  now 
This  paper  wai'rants  for  the  troops,  there  s  nothmg 
Stands  m  the  way  of  our  full  confidence. 
Pracrue  shdl  not  part  us.     Hear  !     The  Chancellor 
Con'tents  himself  \Nith  Altstadt ;  to  your  Grace 
He  gives  up  Ratschm  and  the  narrows  side. 
But  Egra  above  all  must  open  to  us, 
Ere  we  can  think  of  any  junction. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

You, 
You  therefore  must  I  tjust,  and  not  you  me? 
I  will  consider  of  youi'  proposition. 

WBAN'GEL. 

I  must  entreat,  that  3'our  consideratiou 
Occupy  not  too  long  a  time.  Already 
Has  this  negociation,  my  Lord  Duke  J 


108  THE    UKATll    jy    WALLENSTEIN.  [aCT  I. 

Crept  on  iuto  the  second  year.     If  nothing 
Is  settled  this  time,  will  the  Chancellor 
Consider  it  as  broken  off  for  ever. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Ye  press  me  hard.     A  measure  such  as  this, 
Ought  to  be  thought  of. 

WRANGEL 

Ay  !  but  think  of  this  too, 
That  sudden  action  only  can  procure  it 
Success — think  first  of  this,  your  Highness. 

[Exit  Wranoel. 

Scene  VI. 
Wallenstein,  Terzky,  and  Illo  [re-enter). 

ILLO. 

le't  all  right? 

TERZICY. 

Are  you  compromised? 

ILLO. 

This  SAvede 
Went  smiling  from  you.     Yes !  you're  compromised 

wallenstein. 
As  yet  is  nothing  settled :  and  (well  -weighed"* 
1  feel  myself  inclined  to  leave  it  so. 

terzky. 
How?    What  is  that? 

wallenstein. 
Come  on  me  what  will  come. 
The  doing  evil  to  avoid  an  evil 
Cannot  be  good ! 

TERZKY. 

Nay,  but  bethink  you,  Duke. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

To  live  upon  the  mercy  of  these  Swedes  I 

Of  these  proud-hearted  Swedes ! — I  could  not  bear  it 

ILLO 

Goest  thou  as  fugitive,  as  mendicant? 

Bringest  thou  not  more  to  tliem  than  thou  receivest  ? 


SC.  VTI.]  THE    DEATH    OF    WAIXENSTEIN.  1C9 

QWALLENSTEIN. 

How  fared  it  with  the  brave  and  royal  Bourbon 
Who  sold  himself  unto  his  country's  foes. 
And  pierced  the  bosom  of  his  father-land  ? 
Curses  were  his  reward,  and  men's  abhorrence 
Avenged  th"  imnatural  and  revoking  deed. 

TLLO. 

Is  that  thy  case  ? 

WALLENSTEIN'. 

True  faith,  I  tell  thee, 
Must  ever  be  the  dearest  friend  of  man  : 
His  nature  prompts  him  to  assert  its  rights. 
The  enmity  of  sects,  the  rage  of  parties, 
Long  cnerish'd  en\7,  jealousy, — unite  ; 
And  all  the  struggling  elements  of  evil 
Suspend  their  conilict.  and  together  league 
Jn  one  alliance  'gainst  their  common  foe— 
The  savage  beast  that  breaks  into  the  fold. 
Where  men  repose  in  confideoce  and  peace. 
For  vain  were  man's  own  prudence  to  protect  hira. 
'Tis  onlv  in  the  forehead  nature  plants 
The  watchful  eye— the  back,  without  defence. 
Must  find  its  shield  in  man's  fidelity. 

TERZKT. 

Think  not  more  meanly  of  thyself  than  do 

Thy  foes,  who  stretch  then-  hands  with  joy  to  greet  thee. 

Less  scrupulous  far  was  the  Imperial  Charles, 

The  powerful  head  of  this  illustrious  house  ; 

With  open  anns  he  gave  the  Bourbon  welcome  ; 

Foi-  still  by  policy  the  world  is  ruled.] 

Scene   VII 
To  these  enter  the  Countess  Terzky. 

WATXENSTEIN. 

Who  sent  for  you  ?    There  is  no  business  here 
For  women. 

COUNTESS. 

I  am  come  to  b'd  you  joy. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Use  thy  authority,  Torz.ky  ;  bid  her  go. 


170  THE   DEXni   OF   WALLENSTKIN  [ACT  I. 

COUNTKSS. 

Come  I  perhaps  too  early  ?    I  hope  not. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Set  not  this  tongue  upon  me,  I  entreat  you : 
You  know  it  is  the  weapon  that  destroys  me. 
1  am  routed,  if  a  woman  hut  attack  me : 
I  cannot  traffic  in  the  trade  of  words 
With  that  vmreasoning  sex. 

COUNTESS. 

T  had  already 
Given  the  Bohemians  a  king. 

WALLEN  STEIN  {sarcastically). 

They  have  one. 
In  consequence,  no  doubt. 

COUNTESS  {to  the  others). 

Ha !  what  new  scruple 

TEEZKY. 

The  Duke  will  not. 

COUNTESS. 

He  will  not  what  he  mmt ! 
iixo. 
It  lies  with  you  now.     Try.     For  I  am  silenced. 
When  folks  begin  to  talk  to  me  of  conscience, 
And  of  fidelity. 

COUNTESS. 

How  ?  then,  when  all 
Lay  in  the  far-off  distance,  when  the  road 
Stretch'd  out  before  thine  eyes  intermmably, 
Then  hadst  thou  courage  and  resolve  ;  and  now, 
Now  that  the  dream  is  bemg  realized. 
The  purpose  ripe,  the  issue  ascertain 'd, 
Dost  thou  begin  to  play  the  dastard  now? 
Plann'd  merely,  'tis  a  common  felony ; 
Accomplish'd,  an  immortal  undertaking  : 
And  with  success  comes  pardon  hand  in  hand 
For  all  event  is  God's  arbitrement. 

SEKVANT  {enters). 
The  Colonel  Piccolomini. 

COUNTESS  [hastily). 
— Must  wait 


SC.  Vrj.'         THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN.  171 

WALLEN  STEIN. 

I  cannot  see  Mm  now      Another  time. 

SERVANT. 

But  for  two  minutes  he  entreats  an  audience  : 
Of  the  most  urgent  nature  is  his  business 

WAI.T.ENSTEIN. 

Who  knows  what  lie  may  bring  us  !     T  \\-ill  hear  Liia 

COUNTESS  {laughs). 
Urgent  for  him,  no  doubt  ?  but  thou  may'st  wait. 

WALLENSTEIN 

What  is  it? 

COUNTESS 

Thou  shalt  be  informed  hereafter 
First  let  the  Swede  and  thee  be  compromised. 

[Exit  Sehvakt 

WALLENSTEIN. 

If  there  were  yet  a  choice  !  if  yet  some  milder 
Way  of  escape  were  possible — I  still 
Will  choose  it,  and  avoid  the  last  extreme. 

COUNTESS. 

Desirest  thou  nothmg  further?     Such  a  way 

Lies  still  before  thee.     Send  this  Wrangel  off. 

Forget  thou  thy  old  hopes,  cast  far  away 

All  thy  past  life  ;  determhie  to  commence 

A  new  one.     Virtue  hath  her  heroes  too. 

As  well  as  fame  and  fortune.— To  Vienna 

Hence — to  the  Emperor— kneel  before  the  throne  ; 

Take  a  full  coffer  with  thee— say  aloud. 

Thou  dklst  but  wish  to  prove  thy  fealty ; 

Thy  whole  intention  but  to  dupe  the  Swede 

ILLO. 

For  that  too  'tis  too  late.     They  know  too  much; 
He  would  but  bear  his  own  head  to  the  block. 

COUNTESS. 

1  fear  not  that      They  have  not  evidence 

To  attaint  him  legally,  and  they  avoid 

The  avowal  of  an  arbitrary  power 

They'll  let  the  Duke  resign  without  disturbance. 

I  see  how  all  will  end.     The  Iving  of  Hungary 


1"2  THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN         [aCT  1. 

Makes  his  appearance,  and  'twill  of  itself 

Be  understood,  that  then  the  Duke  retire?. 

There  will  not  want  a  formal  declaration  • 

The  young  King  will  administer  the  oath 

To  the  whole  ai'my ;  and  so  all  returns 

To  the  old  position.     On  soroe  morrow  morning 

The  Duke  departs  ;  and  now  'tis  stir  and  bustle 

Within  his  castles.     He  will  hunt,  and  build ; 

Superintend  his  horses'  pedigrees, 

Creates  himself  a  court,  gives  golden  keys, 

And  introduceth  strictest  ceremony 

In  fine  proportions,  and  nice  etiquette ; 

Keeps  open  table  with  high  cheer  :  in  brief, 

Commenceth  mighty  Iving — in  miniature. 

And  while  he  prudently  demeans  himself, 

And  gives  himself  no  actual  importance. 

He  will  be  let  appear  whate'er  he  likes  : 

And  who  dares  doubt,  that  Friedland  will  appear 

A  mighty  Prince  to  his  last  dying  hour '? 

Well  now,  what  then?     Duke  Friedland  is  as  others, 

A  fire-new  Noble,  whom  the  war  hath  raised 

To  price  and  currency,  a  Jonah's  goui'd, 

An  over-night  creation  of  court-favour, 

Which  with  an  undistinguishable  ease 

Makes  Baron  or  makes  Prince. 

WALLENSTEIN  (ill  extreme  agitation). 

Take  her  away. 
Let  in  the  young  Count  Piccolomuii. 

COUNTESS. 

Art  thou  in  earnest  ?     I  entreat  thee  !     Canst  thou 

Consent  to  bear  thyself  to  thy  own  grave, 

So  ignominiously  to  be  dried  up  ? 

Thy  life,  that  arrogated  such  an  height 

To  end  in  such  a  nothing  !     To  be  nothing, 

Wlien  one  was  always  nothing,  is  an  evil 

That  asks  no  stretch  of  patience,  a  light  evil ; 

But  to  become  a  nothing,  having  been 

WALLENSTEIN  {starts  lip  ill  violent  agitation). 
Show  me  a  way  out  of  this  stifling  crowd, 
Ye  powers  of  Aidance !     Show  me  such  a  way 


SC.   VII.j  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLEN'STRIN.  1^3 

As  I  am  capable  of  going.     I 

Am  no  tongue-hero,  no  fine  virtue-prattler ; 

I  cannot  warm  by  thinking ;  cannot  say 

To  the  good  luck  that  turns  her  back  upon  me. 

Magnanimously  ;  "  Go ;  I  need  thee  not." 

Cease  I  to  work,  I  am  annihilated. 

Dangers  nor  sacrifices  will  I  shun, 

If  so  I  may  avoid  the  last  extreme  ; 

But  ere  I  sink  down  into  nothingness, 

Leave  oS"  so  little,  who  began  so  great, 

Ere  that  the  world  confuses  me  with  those 

Poor  wretches,  whom  a  day  creates  and  crumbles, 

This  age  and  after  ages  *  speak  my  name 

With  hate  and  dread  ;  and  Friedland  be  redemption 

For  each  accursed  deed. 

COUNTKSS. 

What  is  there  here,  then, 
So  against  nature  ?     Help  me  to  perceive  it ! 
0  let  not  Superstition's  nightly  goblins 
Subdue  thy  clear  bright  spirit !     Art  thou  bid 
To  murder? — with  abhorr'd,  accursed  poniard, 
To  violate  the  breasts  that  nourish'd  thee  ? 
That  were  against  our  nature,  that  might  aptly 
Make  thy  flesh  shudder,  and  thy  whole  heart  sicken  t. 
Yet  not  a  few,  and  for  a  meaner  object. 
Have  ventured  even  this,  ay,  and  perform'd  it. 
What  is  there  in  thy  case  so  black  and  monstrous  ? 
Thou  art  accused  of  treason — whether  with 
Or  without  justice  is  not  now  the  question — 
Thou  art  lost  if  thou  dost  not  avail  thee  quickly 
Of  the  power  which  thou  possessest— Friedland  !  Buke  I 
Tell  me  where  lives  that  thing  so  meek  and  tame. 
That  doth  not  all  his  living  faculties 

*  Could  I  have  hazarded  such  a  Germanism,  as  the  use  of  the  word  after- 
world  for  posterity,—"  Es  spreche  Welt  uiid  ^\lchll•eU  meinen  Namen  "— 
might' have  been  rendered  with  more  literal  fidelity  :— Let  world  and  after- 
word speak  out  my  name,  etc. 

+  I  have  not  ventured  to  uffront  the  fastidious  delicacy  of  our  age  with  a 

literal  u-anslation  of  this  line, 

■werth 
Pie  Eingeweide  schaudernd  aufzuregen. 


i74  TSi:   DSATH   OF  WALLENSTRIN.  [ACT   I. 

Put  forth  iu  preservation  of  his  life  ? 
What  deed  so  daring,  wjiich  necessity 
And  desperation  will  not  sanctify  ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Once  "was  this  Ferdinand  so  gracious  to  me ; 

He  loved  me  ;  he  esteem'd  me  ;  I  was  placed 

The  nearest  to  his  heart.     Full  many  a  time 

We  like  familiar  friends,  both  at  one  table, 

Have  banqueted  together.     He  and  I — 

Vnd  the  young  Idngs  themselves  held  me  the  b-ison 

Where ^\•ith  to  wash  me — and  is't  come. to  this? 

COUNTESS. 

So  faithfully  preservest  thou  each  small  favour. 

And  hast  no  memorv'  for  contumelies  ? 

Must  I  remind  thee,  how  at  Regensburg 

This  man  repaid  thy  faithful  semces  ? 

All  ranks  and  all  conditions  in  the  empire 

Thou  hadst  wronged,  to  make  him  great, — hadst  loaded  on 

thee. 
On  tliee,  the  hate,  the  curse  of  the  whole  world. 
No  friend  existed  for  thee  in  all  Germany, 
And  why  ?  because  thou  hadst  existed  only 
For  the  Emperor.     To  the  Emperor  a^one 
Clung  Friedland  in  that  storm  which  gather'd  round  him 
At  Regensburg  in  the  Diet — and  he  dropp'd  thee ! 
He  let  thee  fall !  he  let  thee  fall  a  victim 
To  the  Bavarian,  to  that  insolent ! 
Deposed,  stript  bare  of  all  thy  dignity 
And  power,  amid  the  taunting  of  thy  foes, 
Thou  wert  let  drop  into  obscurity. — 
Say  not.  the  restoration  of  thy  honour 
Has  made  atonement  for  that  first  injustice. 
No  honest  good-will  was  it  that  replaced  thee  ; 
The  law  of  hard  necessity  replaced  thee. 
Wliich  tliey  had  fain  opposed,  but  that  they  could  iiDt 

WALl.ENSTEIN. 

Not  to  their  good  wishes,  that  is  certain, 
Nor  yet  to  his  affection  I'm  indebted 
For  this  high  office ;  and  if  I  abuse  it. 
I  shall  therein  abuse  no  confidence 


80.  vii.]  thh;  death  of  wallenstein  l^o 

COnXTESS. 

Affection !  confidence  !— they  needed  thee. 
Neces^^ity,  impetuous  remonstrant ! 
Who  not  with  empty  names,  or  shows  of  proxy. 
Is  served  who'll  liaVe  the  thing  and  not  the  symbol, 
Evei  seeks  out  the  greatest  and  the  best. 
And  at  the  rudder  places  him,  e'en  though 
She  had  been  forced  to  take  him  from  the  rabble- 
She,  this  Necessity,  it  was  that  placed  thee 
In  this  high  office ;  it  was  she  that  gave  thee 
Thy  letters  patent  of  inauguration. 
For,  to  the  uttermost  moment  that  they  can, 
This  race  still  help  themselves  at  cheapest  rate 
With  slavish  souls,  with  puppets !     At  the  approach 
Of  extreme  peril,  when  a  hollow  image 
Is  found  a  hollow  image  and  no  more. 
Then  falls  the  power  into  the  mighty  hands 
Of  Nature,  of  the  spirit  giant-born, 
Who  listens  only  to  himself,  knows  nothing 
Of  stipulations,  duties,  reverences, 
And,  like  the  emancipated  force  of  fire, 
Unmaster'd  scorches,  ere  it  reaches  them. 
Their  fine-spun  webs,  their  artificial  policy. 

WAIXENSTETN. 

'Tis  true !  they  saw  me  always  as  I  am — 
Always !  I  did  not  cheat  them  in  the  barga:'u. 
1  never  held  it  worth  my  pains  to  hide 
The  bold  all-graspuig  habit  of  my  soul. 

C0XJXTE88 

Nay  rather -thou  hast  ever  shown  thyself 

A  formidable  man,  without  restraint ; 

Hast  exercised  the  full  prerogatives 

Of  thv  impetuous  nature,  which  had  been 

Once 'granted  to  thee.     Therefore,  Duke,  not  thou 

Who  hast  still  remained  consistent  with  thyself. 

But  they  are  in  the  wrong,  who  fearing  thee, 

Entrusted  sucli  a  power  in  hand  they  fear  d. 

For,  by  the  laws  of  Spirit,  in  the  right 

Is  every  individual  character 

That  acts  in  strict  consistence  with  itselfl 


176  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  [AOT    J. 

Self  contradiction  is  the  only  wrong. 

Wert  thou  another  being,  then,  when  thou 

Eight  years  ago  pui'suedst  thy  march  with  fire. 

And  sword,  and  desolation,  through  the  Circles 

Of  Germany,  the  universal  scourge, 

Didst  mock  all  ordinances  of  the  empire, 

The  fearful  rights  of  strength  alone  exertedst, 

Trampledst  to  earth  each  rank,  each  magistracy, 

All  to  extend  thy  Sultan's  domination  ? 

Then  was  the  time  to  break  thee  in,  to  curb 

Thy  haughty  will,  to  teach  thee  ordinance. 

But  no,  the  Emperor  felt  no  touch  of  conscience ; 

What  served  him  pleased  him,  and  without  a  murmur 

lie  stamp'd  his  broad  seal  on  these  lawless  deeds. 

What  at  that  time  was  right,  because  thou  didst  it 

For  him,  to  day  is  all  at  once  become 

Opprobrious,  foul,  because  it  is  directed 

Against  him. — 0  most  flimsy  superstition  ! 

WALLENSTEiN  [rising). 
r  never  saw  it  in  this  light  before, 
'Tis  even  so.     The  Emperor  perpetrated 
Deeds  through  my  arm,  deeds  most  unorderly. 
And  even  this  prince's  mantle,  which  I  wear, 
1  owe  to  what  were  ser\'ices  to  him, 
But  most  high  misdemeanors  'gainst  the  empire. 

COUNTESS. 

Then  betwixt  thee  and  him  (confess  it  Fiiedland  !) 

The  point  can  be  no  more  of  right  and  duty, 

Only  of  power  and  the  opportunity. 

That  oi)portuuity,  lo  !  it  comes  yonder 

Approaching  with  swift  steeds  ;  then  with  a  swing 

Tlirow  thyself  up  into  the  chariot-seat, 

Seize  with  firm  hand  the  reins,  ere  thy  opponent 

Anticipate  thee,  and  himself  make  conquesL 

Of  the  now  empty  seat.     Tlie  moment  comes ; 

It  is  already  bere,  when  tbou  nuibt  write 

The  absolute  tot<d  of  thy  life's  vast  sum. 

The  constellations  stand  victorious  o'er  tbee. 

The  planets  shoot  good  fortune  in  fair  junctions, 

And  tell  thee,  "  Now's  the  time  ! "    The  starry  courses 


BO.  VIl.J  THE  DEATH  OF  WALLKNSTEIN.  177 

Hast  thou  thy  life-long  measured  to  no  purpose  ? 
The  quadrant  ajid  the  circle,  were  they  playthuigs  ? 

[Pointing  to  the  different  objects  in  the  room 
The  zodiacs,  the  rolling  orbs  of  heaven, 
Hast  pictured  on  these  walls,  and  all  around  tliee 
In  dumb,  foreboding  symbols  hast  thou  placed 
These  seven  presiding  Lords  of  Destiny  — 
For  toys  ?     Is  all  this  preparation  nothing? 
Is  there  no  marrow  in  this  hollow  art, 
That  even  to  thyself  it  doth  avail 
Nothing,  and  has  no  influence  over  thee 

In  the  gi-eat  moment  of  decision  ? 

WALLENSTEiN  {during  this  last  speech  ivalks  up  and  rf.wn 
with  inward  struggles,  labouring  with  passion ;  stops  sud- 
denly, stands  still,  then  interrupting  the  Countess) 
Send  Wrangel  to  me— I  will  instantly 

Despatch  three  couriers 

ILLO  [hurrying  oui). 

God  in  heaven  be  praised ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It  is  his  e\i\  genius  and  mine. 

Our  evil  genius  !    It  chastises  hivi 

Through  me,  the  instrument  of  his  ambition  ; 

And  I°expect  no  less,  than  that  Revenge 

E'en  now  is  whetting  for  my  breast  the  poniard. 

Who  sows  the  serpent's  teeth,  let  him  not  hope 

To  reap  a  joyous  harvest.     Every  crime 

Has,  in  the  moment  of  its  perpetratiou, 

Its  owTi  avenging  angel— dark  misgiving. 

An  ominous  sinking  at  the  inmost  heart. 

He  can  no  longer  trust  me— Then  no  longer 

Can  I  retreat— so  come  that  which  must  come. — 

Still  destiny  preserves  its  due  relations. 

The  heart  within  us  is  its  absolute 

Vicegerent.  .,.  ^'^' T'^"^' 

Go,  conduct  you  Gustave  Wrangel 
To  my  state-cabinet.— Myself  Nvill  speak  to 
The  couriers. — And  despatch  iminediately 
A  servant  for  Octavio  Piccolomini. 

[To  the  Countess,  who  cannot  conceal  her  triumph. 
No  exultiUion  '  woman,  triumph  not  1 

N 


178  THE  DEATH   OF   WALLEN8TEIN  [ACT    II. 

For  jealous  are  the  Powers  of  Destiny 

Joy  premature,  and  shouts  ere  victory, 

Encroach  upon  their  rights  and  privileges. 

We  sow  the  seed,  and  they  the  growth  determine.  _ 

[While  he  is  making   his  exit  the  curtain  drops 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. 
Scene,  as  in  the  preceding  Act. 
Wallenstein,  Octavio  Piccolomini. 
WALLENSTEiN  {coming  forward  in  conversation). 
He  sends  me  word  from  Linz,  that  he  lies  sick ; 
But  1  have  sure  intelligence,  that  he 
Secretes  himself  at  Frauenberg  with  Gallas. 
Secure  them  both,  and  send  them  to  me  hither 
Remember,  thou  takest  on  thee  the  command 
Of  those  same  Spanish  regiments, — constantly 
Make  preparation,  and  be  never  ready  ; 
And  if  they  urge  thee  to  draw  out  against  me,^ 
Still  answer  yes,  and  stand  as  thou  wert  fetter'd 
I  know,  that  it  is  doing  thee  a  service 
To  keep  thee  out  of  action  in  this  business. 
Thou  lovest  to  linger  on  in  fair  appearances ; 
Steps  of  extremity  are  not  thy  province. 
Therefore  have  I  sought  out  this  part  for  thee. 
Thou  wilt  this  time  be  of  most  service  to  me 
By  thy  inertness.     The  mean  time,  if  fortune 
Declare  itself  on  my  side,  thou  wilt  know 
What  is  to  do. 

Enter  Max.  Piccolomini. 
Now  go,  Octavio. 
This  night  must  thou  be  off,  take  my  own  horses : 
Him  here  I  keep  mih.  me — make  short  farewell — 
Trust  me,  I  think,  we  all  shall  meet  again 
In  joy  and  thiiving  fortunes. 

OCTAVIO  {to  his  son). 

I  shall  see  you 
Yet  ere  I  go. 


I 


8C.  ii.j  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLEKSTEIN.  1 '  ^ 

Scene  II. 
Waixenstein,  Max.  Piccolomini. 
MAX.  (advances  to  him). 
My  General ! 

wallenstein. 
That  I  am  no  longer,  if 
Thou  stylest  thyself  the  Emperor's  officer 

M.VX. 

Then  thou  ^vilt  leave  the  army,  General? 

wallenstetn. 
I  have  renounced  the  service  of  the  Emperor 

max 
And  thou  wilt  leave  the  army  ? 

waxlenstein. 

Rather  hope  I 

To  bind  it  nearer  still  and  faster  to  me. 

[He  seats  himself. 

Yes,  Max.,  I  have  delay 'd  to  open  it  to  thee. 
Even  till  the  hour  of  acting  'gins  to  strike 
Youth's  fortunate  feeling  doth  seize  easily 
The  absolute  right,  yea,  and  a  joy  it  is 
To  exercise  the  single  apprehension 
Where  the  sums  squai-e  in  proof; 

But  where  it  happens,  that  of  two  sure  evils 

One  must  be  taken,  where  the  heart  not  wholly 

Brings  itself  back  from  out  the  strife  of  duties, 

There  'tis  a  blessing  to  have  no  electio-n. 

And  blank  necessity  is  grace  and  favour. 

This  is  now  present :  do  not  look  behind  thee, — 

It  can  no  more  avail  thee.     Look  thou  forwards ! 

Think  not !  judge  not !  prepare  thyself  to  act ! 

The  Court— it  hath  determined  on  my  ruin, 

Therefore  I  nn-IH  be  beforehand  wth  them. 

We'll  join  the  Swedes— right  gallant  fellows  are  they, 

And  our  good  friends. 

me  stops  himself,  expecting  Piccolomini  s  answer 

N  - 


180  THE   DEATH   OF  WALLEN8TEIN  [AOT  U. 

I  have  ta'en  thee  by  surprise.     Answer  me  not. 

I  grant  thee  time  to  recollect  thyself. 

[He  rises,  retires  at  the  back  of  the  stage  Max.  re- 
mains for  a  long  time  motionless,  in  a  trance  of 
excessive  anguish.  At  his  first  motion  Wallen- 
STEiN  returns,  and  places  himself  before  him. 

max. 
My  General,  this  day  thou  makest  me 
Of  age  to  speak  in  my  own  right  and  person, 
For  till  this  day  I  have  been  spared  the  trouble 
To  find  out  my  own  road.     Thee  have  I  follow'd 
With  most  implicit  unconditional  faith, 
Sure  of  the  right  path  if  I  follow'd  thee. 
To-day,  for  the  first  time,  dost  thou  refer 
Me  to  myself,  and  forcest  me  to  make 
Election  between  thee  and  my  own  heart. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Soft  cradled  thee  thy  Fortune  till  to  day ; 
Thy  duties  thou  couldst  exercise  in  sport, 
Indulge  all  lovely  instincts,  act  for  ever 
With  undivided  heart.     It  can  remain 
No  longer  thus.     Like  enemies,  the  roads 
Start  from  each  other.     Duties  strive  with  duties. 
Thou  must  needs  choose  thy  party  in  the  war 
Which  is  now  kindling  'twixt  thy  friend  and  him 
Who  is  thy  Emperor. 

MAX. 

War !  is  that  the  name  ? 
War  is  as  frightful  as  heaven's  pestilence 
Yet  it  is  good,  is  it  heaven's  will  as  that  is 
Is  that  a  good  war,  which  against  the  Emperor 
Thou  wagest  \At\\  the  Emperor's  own  army? 
O  God  of  heaven  !  what  a  change  is  this. 
Beseems  it  me  to  offer  such  persuasion 
To  thee,  who  like  the  fix'd  star  of  the  pole 
Wert  all  I  gazed  at  on  life's  trackless  ocean  ? 
O  !  what  a  rent  thou  makest  in  my  heart ! 
The  ingrain'd  instinct  of  old  reverence. 
The  holy  habit  of  obediency, 
\f'ist  I  pluck  live  asunder  from  thy  namey 


so.  n.]  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLENSTEIH.  181 

Nay,  do  iiot  turn  tlij  coiuitenauce  upon  me — 
It  always  was  as  a  god  looking  upon  me ! 
Duke  Wallenstein,  its  power  has  not  departed  • 
The  senses  still  are  in  thy  bonds,  although, 
Bleeding,  the  soul  hath  freed  itself. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Max.  hear  me. 

MAX. 

0  !  do  it  not,  I  pray  thee,  do  it  not ! 
There  is  a  pure  and  noble  soul  within  thee, 
Ivnows  not  of  this  unblest  unlucky  doing. 
Thy  will  is  chaste,  it  is  thy  fancy  only 
Which  hath  polluted  thee — and  innocence, 
It  will  not  let  itself  be  driven  away 
From  that  world-awing  aspect.     Thou  mlt  not, 
Thou  canst  not  end  in  this.     It  would  reduce 
All  human  creatures  to  disloyalty 
Against  the  nobleness  of  their  own  nature. 
'Twill  justify  the  vulgar  misbelief, 
Which  holdeth  nothmg  noble  in  free  will. 
And  trusts  itself  to  impotence  alone, 
Made  powerful  only  in  an  unknown  power 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  world  will  judge  me  sternly,  I  expect  it 

Already  have  I  said  to  my  own  self 

All  thou  canst  say  to  me.     Who  but  avoids_ 

The  extreme,  can  he  by  going  round  avoid  it  ?  .;  I 

But  here  there  is  no  choice.     Yes— I  must  use 

Or  suffer  violence—  so  stands  the  case. 

There  remains  nothing  possible  but  that. 

MAX. 

O  that  is  never  possible  for  thee ! 

Tis  the  last  desperate  resource  of  those 

Cheap  souls,  to  whom  their  honour,  their  good  name 

Is  their  poor  saving,  their  last  worthless  keep. 

Which  having  staked  and  lost,  they  stake  themselves 

In  the  mad  rage  of  ganung      Thou  art  rich, 

And  glorious ;  with  an  unpolluted  heart 

Thou  canst  make  conquest  of  whate'er  seems  highest  1 

But  he,  who  once  hath  acted  infamy, 

Doos  nothing  more  in  this  world 


182  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLENSTEIN  [ACT  II. 

WALLENSTEIN  {r/rasps  his  hand). 

Calmly,  Max. ! 
Much  that  is  great  and  excellent  Avill  we 
Perform  together  yet.     And  if  we  only 
Stand  on  tlie  height  with  dignity,  'tis  soon 
Forgotten,  Max.,  by  what  road  we  ascended. 
Believe  me,  many  a  crown  shines  spotless  now, 
That  yet  was  deeply  sullied  in  the  winning. 
To  the  evil  spirit  doth  the  earth  belong. 
Not  to  the  good.     All,  that  the  powers  divine 
Send  from  above,  are  universal  blessings : 
Their  light  rejoices  us,  their  air  refreshes, 
But  never  yet  was  man  enrich'd  by  them  : 
In  their  eternal  realm  no  property 
Is  to  be  struggled  for — all  there  is  general 
The  jewel,  the  all-valued  gold  we  ^in 
From  the  deceiving  Powers,  depraved  in  nature, 
That  dwell  beneath  the  day  and  blessed  sun-light. 
Not  without  sacrifices  are  they  render'd 
Propitious,  and  there  lives  no  soul  on  earth 
That  e'er  retired  unsullied  from  their  service 

MAX. 

Whate'er  is  human,  to  the  human  being 

Do  I  allow— and  to  the  vehement 

And  striving  spirit  readily  I  pardon 

The  excess  of  action ;  but  to  thee,  my  General ! 

Above  all  others  make  I  large  concession. 

For  thou  must  move  a  world,  and  be  the  master — 

He  kills  thee,  who  condemns  thee  to  inaction 

So  be  it  then !  maintain  thee  in  thy  post 

By  violence.     Resist  the  Emperor, 

And  if  it  must  be,  force  with  force  repel : 

I  will  not  praise  it,  yet  I  can  forgive  it. 

But  not — not  to  the  traitor— yes  ! — the  word 

Is  spoken  out 

Not  to  the  traitor  can  I  yield  a  pardon. 
That  is  no  mere  excess !  that  is  no  error 
Of  human  nature  — that  is  wholly  different, 
O  that  is  black,  black  as  the  pit  of  hell ! 

[Wallenstein  betrays  a  sudden  agitation. 
Thou  canst  not  hear  it  named,  and  wilt  thou  do  it  ? 


sc.  n.] 


THE   DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIK  183 


0  turn  back  lu  thy  duty.     That  diou  canst, 

1  hold  it  certain.     Seud  me  to  Vienna : 

I'll  make  thy  peace  for  thee  with  the  Emperor. 
He  knows  thee  not.     But  1  do  know  thee.     He 
Shall  see  thee,  Duke !  ^ith  my  unclouded  eye, 
And  I  bring  back  his  confidence  to  thee. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It  is  too  late !     Thou  knowest  not  what  has  happen'd. 

MAX. 

Were  it  too  late,  and  were  things  gone  so  far, 
That  a  crime  only  could  prevent  thy  fall, 
Then— fall  !  fall' honourably,  even  as  thou  stood  st, 
Lose  the  command.     Go  from  the  stage  of  war 
Thou  canst  with  sjjlendour  do  it — do  it  too 
With  innocence.     Thou  hast  lived  much  for  others. 
At  length  live  thou  for  thy  o^vn  self.     1  follow  thee. 
My  destiny  I  never  part  from  thine 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It  is  too  late  !     Even  now,  while  thou  art  losmg 
Thy  words,  one  after  the  other  ai-e  the  mile-stones 
Left  fast  behind  by  my  post  couriers, 
Who  bear  the  order  on  to  Prag-ue  and  Egra. 

[Max.  stands  as  convulsed,  icith  a  gesture  and  counts- 
nance  expressing  the  most  intense  anguish. 
Yield  thyself  to  it.     We  act  as  we  are  forced. 
I  cannot  give  assent  to  my  own  shame 
And  ruin.     Thou— no— thou  canst  not  forsake  me  ! 
So  let  us  do,  what  must  be  done,  wth  dignity, 
With  a  firm  step.     ^Miat  am  I  doing  worse 
Than  did  famed  Caesar  at  the  Rubicon, 
When  he  the  legions  led  against  his  coimtry. 
The  which  his  countiy  had  delivered  to  him  ? 
Had  he  thrown  down  the  sword,  he  had  been  lost. 
As  I  were,  if  I  but  disarm'd  myself. 
I  trace  out  something  in  me  of  this  spint ; 
Give  me  his  luck,  that  oth^r  thing  111  bear. 

[Max.  qtiits  him  abruptly.     Wallenstein  startled  and 

overpowered,  continues  looMng  after  hwi,  and  u^  still  in 

this  posture  uhen  Terzkt  enters. 


184  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN  [aOT  II. 

Scene  III. 
Wallenstein,  Terzky 

TERZKY. 

Max.  Piccolomini  just  left  you  ? 

WAJ.LEN8TEIN. 


Where  is  Wrangel  ? 

TERZKY. 


He  is  already  gone. 


WALLENSTEIN. 

In  such  a  hurry  ? 

TERZKY. 

It  is  as  if  the  earth  had  swallow'd  him. 

He  had  scarce  left  thee,  when  I  went  to  seek  him. 

I  wish'd  some  words  with  him — but  he  was  gone. 

How,  when,  and  where,  could  no  one  tell  me.     Nay, 

I  half  believe  it  was  the  devil  himself ; 

A  human  creature  could  not  so  at  once 

Have  vanish'd. 

ILLO  {enters). 
Is  it  true  that  thou  wilt  send 
Octavio  ? 

TERZKY. 

How,  Octavio  !     Whither  send  him  ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

He  goes  to  Frauenburg,  and  vpill  lead  hither 
The  Spanish  and  Italian  regiments. 

ILLO. 

No! 
Nay,  Heav3n  forbid ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And  why  should  Heaven  forbid  ? 

ILLO. 

Him ! — that  deceiver !     Wouldst  thou  trust  to  him 
The  soldiery  ?     Him  wilt  thou  let  slip  from  thee, 
Now  in  the  very  instant  that  decides  us 

TERZKY. 

Thou  wilt  not  do  this ! — No !  I  pray  thee,  nol 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Ye  are  whimsical. 


Be.    III.]  THE    DEATH    OF    WAIXEKSTEIN. 


185 


ILLO. 

0  but  for  this  time,  Duke, 
Yield  to  our  warning  !     Let  bim  not  depart 

WAIXEXSTETN. 

And  why  should  I  not  trust  him  only  this  time, 

Who  have  always  trusted  him  ?    What,  then,  has  happen  d 

That  I  should  lose  my  good  opinion  of  him  ? 

In  complaisance  to  your  whims,  not  my  own, 

I  must,  forsooth,  give  up  a  rooted  judgment.  _ 

Think  not  I  am  a  woman      Having  trusted  lum 

E'en  till  to-day,  to-day  too  will  I  trust  him, 

TERZKT 

Must  it  be  he— he  only  ?     Send  another. 

WAI.LENSTE1N. 

t  must  be  he,  whom  I  myself  have  chosen  ; 
He  is  well  fitted  for  the  business.     Therefore 
I  gave  it  him. 

IIXO 

Because  he's  an  Italian — 
Therefore  is  he  well  fitted  for  the  business  ! 

WALLENSTEIN 

I  know  you  love  them  not— nor  sire  nor  son— 

Because  tliat  I  esteem  them,  love  them— visibly 

Esteem  them,  love  them  more  than  you  and  others. 

E'en  as  they  merit.     Therefore  are  they  eye-bhghts. 

Thorns  in  your  foot-path.     But  your  jealousies. 

In  what  affect  they  me  or  my  concerns  ? 

Are  they  the  worse  to  me  because  you  hate  them  t 

Love  or  hate  one  another  as  you  will, 

I  leave  to  each  man  his  own  moods  and  likmgs ; 

Yet  know  the  worth  of  each  of  you  to  me. 

I  LLC. 

Von  Questenberg,  while  he  was  here,  was  always 
Lurking  about  with  this  Octavio. 

WAIXEKSTEIN. 

It  happen 'd  with  my  knowledge  and  permission. 

ILLO. 

I  know  that  secret  messergers  came  to  him 
From  Gallas 


186  THE    DKATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN,  [ACT  II. 

WALLKNSTEIN. 

That's  uot  true. 

ILI.O. 

O  thou  art  "blind, 
With  thy  deep-seeing  ejes  I 

WALLENSTEIN 

Thou  wilt  not  shake 
My  faith  for  me — my  faith,  which  founds  itself 
On  the  profoundest  science.     If  'tis  false. 
Then  the  whole  science  of  the  stars  is  false ; 
For  know,  I  have  a  pledge  from  Fate  itself, 
That  he  is  the  most  faithful  of  my  friends. 

ILLO. 

Hast  thou  a  pledge,  that  this  pledge  is  not  false  ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

There  exist  moments  in  the  life  of  man. 

When  he  is  nearer  the  great  Soul  of  the  world 

Than  is  man's  custom,  and  possesses  freely 

The  power  of  questioning  his  destiny : 

And  such  a  moment  'twas,  when  in  the  night 

Before  the  action  in  the  plains  of  Liitzen, 

Leaning  against  a  tree,  thoughts  crowding  thoughts 

I  look'd  out  far  upon  the  ominous  plain. 

My  whole  life,  past  and  future,  in  this  moment 

Before  my  mind's  eye  glided  in  procession, 

And  to  the  destiny  of  the  next  morning 

The  spirit,  fill'd  with  anxious  presentiment. 

Did  knit  the  most  removed  futurity. 

Then  said  I  also  to  myself,  "  So  many 

Dost  thou  command.     They  follow  all  thy  stars 

And  as  on  some  great  number  set  their  xUl 

Upon  thy  single  head,  and  only  man 

The  vessel  of  thy  foi'tune.     Yet  a  day 

Will  come,  when  Destiny  shall  once  more  scatter 

All  these  in  many  a  several  direction : 

Few  be  they  who  will  stand  out  faithful  to  thee. " 

I  yearn 'd  to  know  which  one  was  faithfullest 

Of  all,  this  camp  included.     Great  Destiny, 

Give  me  a  sign !  And  he  shall  be  the  man, 

Who,  on  the  approaching  morning,  comes  the  first. 

To  meet  me  with  a  token  of  his  love. 


187 


gC.  ni.]  THE   DEATH    OF   ^YALLEN6TEIN. 

And  thinlvhig  tliis,  I  fell  into  a  slumber. 

Then  midmost  in  the  battle  was  I  led 

In  spirit.     Great  the  pressure  and  the  tumult ! 

Then  .vas  my  horse  kill'd  under  me:  1  sank; 

And  over  me  away,  all  unconcernedly. 

Drove  horse  and  rider-and  thus  trod  to  pieces 

I  lav,  and  panted  like  a  dvuig  man  ; 

Then  seized  me  suddenly  a  saviour  arm ; 

It  was  Octavio's— I  awoke  at  once, 

Twas  broad  day.  and  Octavio  stooci  before  me. 

"  My  brother, ""said  he,  "  do  not  ride  to-d^y 

The  dapple,  as  you're  .vont;  but  mount  the  horse 

TVTiich  I  have  chosen  for  thee.     Do  it  brother  J 

In  love  to  me.     A  strong  dream  warn  d  me  sck 

It  was  the  s^^•iftn8ss  of  this  horse  that  snatch  d  me 

From  the  hot  pursuit  of  Bannier's  dragoons. 

My  cousin  rode  the  dapple  on  that  day, 

And  never  more  saw  I  or  horse  or  rider. 

ILLO 

That  was  a  chance. 

W.VLLEXSTEIN  {slgmficantly). 

There's  no  such  thing  as  chance  ; 
r  And  what  to  us  seems  merest  accident 
SprincTs  from  the  deepest  source  of  destiny.  J  _ 
In  brief,  'tis  sign'd  and  seald  that  this  Octavio 
Is  my  good  angel— and  now  no  word  more.  _ 

TEBZKY. 

This  is  my  comfort— Max.  remains  our  hostage. 

IIXO. 

And  he  shall  never  stir  from  here  alive. 

WALLENSTEiN  {stops  and  tiirns  himself  round). 
Are  ye  not  like  the  women,  who  for  ever 
Only  recur  to  their  first  word,  although 
One  had  been  talking  reason  by  the  hour . 
Know,  that  the  human  being's  thoughts  and  deeds 
Are  not  like  ocean  billows,  b'indly  moved. 
The  inner  world,  his  microcosmus,  is 
The  deep  shaft,  out  of  which  they  spring  eternally. 
They  grow  by  certain  la»vs,  like  the  trees  frmt— 
No  juggling  chance  can  metamorphose  them. 


188  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLENSTEIN.  [ACT  II. 

Have  I  the  human  kernel  first  examined  ? 

Then  I  know,  too,  the  future  will  and  action.  [Exeunt 

Scene  IV. 

Chamber  in  the  residence  of  Piccolomini. 

OcTAVio  Piccolomini  {attired for  travelling),  an  Adjutant. 

Q  OCTAVIO 

Is  the  detachment  here  ? 

ADJUTANT 

It  -^aits  below. 

OCTAVIO, 

And  are  the  soldiers  trusty,  Adjutant? 

Say,  from  what  regiment  hast  thou  chosen  them  ? 

ADJUTANT. 

From  Tiefenbach's 

OCTAVIO. 

That  regiment  is  loyal, 
Keep  them  in  silence  in  the  inner  court. 
Unseen  by  all,  and  when  the  signal  peals 
Then  close  the  doors,  keep  watch  upon  the  house, 
And  all  ye  meet  be  instantly  arrested.  [Exit  Adjutant. 

I  hope  indeed  I  shall  not  need  their  service. 
So  certain  feel  I  of  my  well  laid  plans  ; 
But  when  an  empire's  safety  is  at  stake 
Twere  better  too  much  caution  than  too  little,] 

Scene  V 

A  Chamber  in  Piccolomini's  Dwelling-House 

OcTAVio  Piccolomini,  Isolani,  entering 

ISOLANI. 

Here  am  I  -  Well !  who  comes  yet  of  the  others  ? 

OCTAVIO  {with  an  air  of  mystery) 
But,  first,  a  word  with  you,  Count  Isolani 

ISOLANI  {assuming  the  same  air  of  mystery). 
Will  it  explode,  ha?— Is  the  Duke  about 
To  make  the  attempt?     In  me,  friend,  you  may  place 
Full  confidence  —Nay,  put  me  to  the  proof, 

OCTAVIO 

That  may  happen . 

ISOLANI 

Noble  brother,  I  am 
Not  one  of  those  men  who  in  words  are  valiant. 


8C.  v.]  THE    DEATH   OF   WALLESSTEIX.  189 

Aud  when  it  comes  to  action  skulk  away. 
The  Duke  has  acted  towards  me  as  a  friend 

God  knows  it  is  so ;  and  I  owe  him  all 

He  may  rely  on  my  fidelity. 

OCTAVIO. 

That  will  be  seen  hereafter. 

ISOLANI. 

Be  on  your  guard. 
All  think  not  as  I  think :  and  there  are  many 
Who  still  hold  with  the  Court— yes,  and  they  say 
That  those  stolen  signatures  bind  them  to  nothmg. 

[]  OCTAVIO. 

Indeed !     Pray  name  to  me  the  chiefs  that  think  so 

ISOLANI. 

Plague  upon  them!  all  the  Germans  think  so; 
Esterhazy,  Kaunitz,  Deodati,  too, 
Insist  upon  obedience  to  the  Court.] 

OCTAVIO. 

I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it. 

ISOLANT 

You  rejoice ! 

OCTAVIO. 

That  the  Emperor  has  yet  such  gallant  servants. 
And  loving  friends. 

ISOLANI. 

Nay,  jeer  not,  I  entreat  you. 
They  are  no  such  worthless  fellows,  I  assure  you. 

OCTAVIO. 

I  am  assured  already.     God  forbid 

That  I  should  jest !— In  very  serious  earnest, 

T  am  rejoiced  to  see  an  honest  cause 

So  strong. 

ISOLANl. 

The  Devil ' — what  • — why,  what  means  tliis^. 
Are  you  not,  then For  what,  then,  am  I  here? 

OCTAVTO. 

That  you  may  make  full  declaration,  whether 
You  will  be  call'd  the  fiiend  or  enemy 
Of  the  Emperor. 

ISOLANI  (trith  an  air  of  deHance) 
That  declaration,  friend, 


100  THE    DEATH   OF   WALLEK8TBIN  [ACT  Tl. 

ni  make  to  him  in  whom  a  right  is  placed 
To  put  that  question  to  me. 

OCTAVIO. 

Whether,  Count, 
That  right  is  mine,  this  paper  may  instruct  yon. 

ISOLANI  [stammering). 
Why, — why — ^what!  this  is  the  Emperor's  hand  and  seal ! 

[Reads 
"  Whereas,  the  oflScers  collectively 
Throughout  our  army  will  obey  the  orders 
Of  the  Lieutenant-General  Piccolomini. 

As  from  ourselves. " Hem ! — Yes !  so ! — Yes !  yes  I — 

[ — I  give  you  joy,  Lieutenant-General! 

OCTAVIO. 

And  you  submit  you  to  the  order  ? 

ISOLANI. 

I 

But  you  have  taken  me  so  by  surprise — 
Time  for  reflection  one  must  have 

OCTAVIO. 


Two  minutes. 


ISOLANI. 

My  God !   But  then  the  case  is— 


OCTAVIO. 

Plain  and  simple 
You  must  declare  you,  whether  you  determine 
'i'o  act  a  treason  'gainst  your  Lord  and  Sovereign, 
Or  whether  you  will  servf)  him  faithfully. 

ISOLAXI. 

Treason! — My  God! — But  who  talks  then  of  treason? 

OCTAVIO. 

That  is  the  case.     The  Prince-duke  is  a  traitor — 
I\leaus  to  lead  over  to  the  enemy 

The  Emperor's  army. — Now,  Count ! — brief  and  full — 
Say,  will  you  break  your  oath  to  the  Emperor? 
Sell  yourself  to  the  enemy  ? — Say,  will  you  ? 

ISOLANI. 

What  mean  you?     I — I  break  my  oath,  d'ye  say. 

To  his  Imperial  Majesty? 

Did  I  say  so ! — When,  when  have  I  said  that? 


gC.  v.]  THE   DEATH    OF   WALLEKSTEIN.  191 

OCTAVIO. 

You  have  not  said  it  yet— not  yet.     This  instaut 
I  wait  to  liear,  Count,  whether  you  will  say  it. 

ISOLANI. 

Ay  !  that  delights  me  now,  that  you  yourself 
Bear  witness  for  me  that  I  never  said  so. 

OCTAVIO. 

And  you  renounce  the  Duke  then? 

ISOLANI. 

If  he's  planning 
Treason— why,  treason  breaks  all  bonds  asunder. 

OCTAVIO. 

And  are  determmed,  too,  to  fight  against  him? 

ISOLANI. 

He  has  done  me  service— but  if  he's  a  villain, 
Perdition  seize  him  ! — All  scores  are  rubb'd  off. 

OCTAVIO. 

I  am  rejoiced  that  you  ai'e  so  well  disposed. 
This  night,  break  off  in  the  utmost  secrecy 
With  all  the  light-arm 'd  troops— it  must  appear 
As  came  the  order  from  the  Duke  himself. 
At  Frauenburg's  the  place  of  rendezvous ; 
There  will  Count  Gallas  give  you  further  orders. 

ISOLANI. 

It  shall  be  done.- But  you'll  remember  me 

With  the  Emperor— how  well-disposed  you  found  me. 

OCTAVIO. 

I  will  not  fail  to  mention  it  honourably. 

[Exit  IsoLANi.     A  Servant  enten 
What,  Colonel  Butler !— Show  him  up. 
ISOLANI  (returning). 
Forgive  me  too  my  beai'ish  ways,  old  father! 
Lord  God !  how  should  I  know,  tlien,  what  a  great 
Person  I  had  before  me. 

OCTAVIO. 

No  excuses ! 

ISOLANI. 

I  am  a  merry  lad,  and  if  at  time 

A  rash  word  might  escape  me  'gainst  the  Court 

Amidst  my  wine — ^You  know  no  harm  was  meant       [ExU 


192  THE    DEATH    OF   WALI.KNSIEIN.  [ACT  II. 

OCTAVIO. 

You  need  not  be  uneasy  on  that  score 
That  has  succeeded.     Fortune  favour  us 
With  all  the  others  only  but  as  much  I 

Scene  VI. 

OcTAVIO   PiCCOI.OMINI,    BuTLEB 
BUTLER. 

At  your  command  Lieutenant-general 

OCTAVIO. 

Welcome,  as  honour'd  friend  and  visitor 

BUTLER. 

You  do  me  too  much  honour. 

OCTAVIO  {fifter  both  have  seated  themselves 
You  have  not 
Ketum'd  the  advances  which  I  made  you  yesterday- 
Misunderstood  them  as  mere  empty  forms. 
That  wish  proceeded  from  my  heart— I  was 
In  earnest  with  you — for  'tis  now  a  time 
In  which  the  honest  should  unite  most  closely. 

BUTLER. 

"lis  only  the  like-minded  can  unite. 

OCTAVIO 

True !  and  I  name  all  honest  men  like-minded. 

I  never  charge  a  man  but  with  those  acts 

To  which  his  character  deliberately 

Impels  him  ;  for  alas  !  the  violence 

Of  blind  misunderstandings  often  thrusts 

The  very  best  of  us  from  the  right  track. 

You  came  through  Frauenburg.     Did  the  Count  G alias 

Say  nothing  to  you  ?     Tell  me.     He's  my  friend 

BUTLER. 

His  words  were  lost  on  vie. 

OCTAVIO 

It  grieves  me  soroly. 
To  hear  it :  for  his  counsel  was  most  wise. 
I  had  myself  the  like  to  offer. 

BUTLEB 

Spare 
Yourself  the  trouble — me  th'  embarrassment, 
To  have  deserved  so  ill  your  good  opinion. 


80.  VI.]  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLEXSTEIX.  193 

OCTAVIO. 

The  time  is  precious— let  us  talk  openly. 
You  know  how  matters  stand  here.     Wallenstevn 
Meditates  treason— I  can  tell  you  further, 
He  has  committed  treason  ;  but  few  hours 
Have  past,  since  he  a  covenant  concluded 
With  the  enemv.     The  messengers  are  now 
Full  on  their  way  to  Egra  and  to  Prague. 
To-morrow  he  intends  to  lead  us  over 
To  the  enemy.     But  he  deceives  himself: 
For  Prudence  wakes— The  Emperor  has  still 
Many  and  faithful  friends  here,  and  tuey  staad 
In  closest  union,  mighty  though  unseen. 
This  manifesto  sentences  the  Duke- 
Recalls  the  obedience  of  the  army  from  him. 
And  summons  all  the  loyal,  all  the  honest. 
To  ioin  and  recognise  in  me  their  leader. 
Choose— will  you  share  with  us  an  honest  cause  i 
Or  with  the  evil  share  an  evil  lot  ? 

BUTLER  (rises). 

His  lot  is  mine. 

OCTAVIO. 

Is  that  your  last  resolve  ? 

BUTLER. 

It  is. 

OCTAVIO. 

Nay  but  bethink  you,  Colonel  Butler! 
As  yet  you  have  time.     WHhin  my  faithful  breast 
That  rashly  utter'd  word  remains  mterr  d. 
Recall  it,  Butler  !  choose  a  better  party : 
You  have  not  chosen  the  right  one. 
BUTLER  (going). 

Any  other 

Commands  for  me,  Lieutenant-General  ? 

OCTAVIO. 

See  your  white  hairs:  recall  that  word! 

BUTLER. 

Farewell ! 

OCTAVIO. 

What  •  Would  you  draw  this  good  and  gallant  sword 
In  such  a  cause  ^    Into  a  curse  would  you  ^ 


194  THE   DEATH   OF    VALLENSTEIN.  [aCT  li 

Transform  the  gratitude  which  you  have  eani'd 
By  forty  years'  fidelity  from  Austria  ? 

BUTLEB  {laughinrj  with  bitterness). 
Gratitude  from  the  House  of  Austria !      {^He  is  going. 
ocTAVio  [permits  him  to  go  as  far  as  the  door,  then  calls  after 

him). 
Butler ! 

BUTLER. 

What  wish  you  ? 

OCTAVIO. 

How  was't  with  the  Count  ? 

BUTLER 

Count?  what? 

OCTAVIO  [coldly). 
The  title  that  you  wish'd,  I  mean. 
BUTLER  [starts  in  sudden  passion). 
flell  and  damnation ! 

OCTAVIO  [coldly). 

You  petition'd  for  it — 
And  your  petition  was  repelled — Was  it  so  ? 

BUTLER. 

Your  insolent  scoff  shall  not  go  by  impuuish'd. 
Draw! 

OCTAVIO. 

Nay !  your  sword  to  'ts  sheath !  and  tell  me  calmly. 
How  all  that  happen'd.     I  will  not  refuse  you 
Your  satisfaction  afterwards      Calmly,  Butler ! 

BUTLER. 

Be  the  whole  world  acquainted  with  the  weakness 

For  which  I  never  can  forgive  myself. 

Lieutenant-General !     Yes  ;  I  have  ambition. 

Ne'er  was  I  able  to  endure  contempt. 

It  stung  me  to  the  quick,  that  birth  and  title 

Should  have  more  weight  than  merit  has  in  the  army 

I  would  fain  not  be  meaner  than  my  equal, 

So  in  an  evil  hour  I  let  myself 

Be  tempted  to  that  measure.     It  was  folly ! 

But  yet  80  hard  a  penairce  it  deserved  not. 

It  might  have  been  refused ;  but  wherefore  barb 

And  venom  the  refusal  with  contempt? 


gg   Yi  1  THK    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  19^ 

Why  dash  to  eai'th  and  crush  with  heaviest  scorn 

The  grey-hair'd  man,  the  faithful  veteran? 

Wliy  to  the  baseness  of  his  parentage 

Refer  him  with  such  cruel  roughness,  only 

Because  he  had  a  weak  hour  and  forgofc  himself? 

But  nature  gives  a  sting  e'en  to  the  worm 

Which  wanton  Power  treads  on  m  sport  and  msult 

OCTAVIO. 

You  must  have  been  calumniated.     Guess  you 
The  enemy  who  did  you  this  ill  service  ? 

BUTLER. 

Be't  who  it  will— a  most  low-hearted  scoundrel ! 
Some  vile  court-minion  must  it  be,  some  Spaniard, 
Some  young  squire  of  some  ancient  family, 
lu  whose  light  I  may  stand  ;  some  envious  kna\o, 
Stung  to  his  soul  by  my  fair  self-eam'd  honoui-s ! 

OCTAVIO. 

But  tell  me,  did  the  Duke  approve  that  measure? 

BUTLER. 

Himself  impell'd  me  to  it,  used  his  interest 
In  my  behalf  with  all  the  wannth  of  friendship. 

OCTAVIO. 

Ay  ?  are  you  sure  of  that  ? 

BUTLEB. 

I  read  the  letter. 

OCTAVIO. 

And  so  did  1-  but  the  contents  were  different. 

[Butler  is  suddenly  sirtusk. 
By  chance  I'm  in  possession  of  that  letter- 
Can  leave  it  to  youi  own  eyes  to  convince  you. 

[He  gives  him  the  letter 

BUTLER. 

Ha;  what  is  this? 

OCTAVIO. 

T  fear  me.  Colonel  Butler, 
An  infamous  game  have  they  been  playing  with  you 
The  Duke,  you  say,  impeird  you  to  this  measure  ? 
Now,  in  this  letter,  talks  he  in  contempt 
Concerning  you ;  counsels  the  minister 


196  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLE^Sl-EIN  [AOT  II. 

To  give  sound  chastisement  to  your  conceit, 
For  80  he  calls  it. 

[Butler  reads  through  the  letter;  his  knees  trenbla, 
he  seizes  a  chair,  and  sinks  doivn  in  tt. 
You  have  no  enemy,  no  persecutor ; 
There's  no  one  wishes  ill  to  you.     Ascribe 
The  insult  you  received  to  the  Duke  only. 
His  aim  is  clear  and  palpable.     He  wish'd 
To  tear  you  from  your  Emperor  :  he  hoped 
To  gain  from  your  revenge  what  he  well  knew 
^What  your  long-tried  fidelity  convinced  him; 
He  ne'er  could  dare  expect  from  your  calm  reason 
A  bluid  tool  would  he  make  you,  in  contempt 
Use  you,  as  means  of  most  abandoned  ends. 
He  has  gained  his  point.     Too  well  has  he  succeeded 
1  n  luring  you  away  from  that  good  path 
On  which  you  had  been  jounieying  forty  years ! 

BUTLER  (liis  voice  trembling). 
Can  e'er  the  Emperor's  Majesty  forgivp  me? 

OCTAVIO. 

More  than  forgive  you.     He  would  fain  compensate 
For  that  affront,  and  most  unmerited  grievance 
Sustain'd  by  a  deserving  gallant  veteran. 
From  his  free  impulse  he  confirms  the  present, 
Which  the  Duke  made  you  for  a  wicked  purpose. 
The  regiment,  which  you  now  command,  is  yours. 

[Butler  attempts  to  rise,  sinks  down  again.  He  lahonrs 
inwardly  with  violent  emotions;  tries  to  speak,  and  can- 
not. At  length  he  takes  his  sword  from  the  belt,  and 
offers  it  to  Piccolojiini. 

OCTAVIO. 

WTiat  wish  you?    Recollect  yourself,  friend. 

BUTLER. 

Take  it 

OCTAVIO. 

But  to  what  purpose?     Calm  yourself. 

BUTI.EK. 

0  take  it ! 
I  am  no  longer  worthy  of  this  sword. 

OCTAVTO. 

Eeceive  it  then  anew,  from  my  hands — and 


g(j_  VI.]  I'HE    DEATH    OF    AYALLEK3TKIK,  197 

Wear  it  with  honour  for  the  right  cause  ever 

BUTLER. 

Perjure  myseK  to  such  a  gracious  Sovereign  1 

OCTAVIO. 

Youll  make  amends.     Quick !  break  off  froit  Oie  Duke ! 

BUTLER. 

Break  off  from  him  I 

OCTAVIO. 

What  now  ?  Bethink  thyself. 
BUTLER  {no  longer  governing  his  emotion). 
Only  break  off  from  him  ?     He  dies  !  he  dies  ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Come  after  me  to  Frauenbm-g,  where  now 
All  who  are  loyal,  are  assembling  under 
Counts  Altringer  and  Gallas.     Many  others 
Tve  brought  to  a  remembrance  of  their  duty: 
This  uioht  be  sure  that  you  escape  from  Pilsen. 
BUTLER  (strides  up  and  down  in  excessive  agitation    then  stepi 
lip  to  ocTATiO  u-ith  resolved  countenance). 
Co'ont  Piccolomini !  dare  that  man  speak 
Of  honour  to  you,  who  once  broke  his  troth 

OCTAVIO. 

He,  who  repents  so  deei)ly  of  it,  dares. 

BUTLER. 

Then  leave  me  liere  upon  my  word  of  honour! 

OCTAVIO. 

What's  your  design  ? 

BUTLER. 

Leave  me  and  my  regiment. 

OCTAVIO. 

1  have  full  confidence  in  you.     But  tell  me 
What  are  you  brooding? 

BUTLER. 

That  the  deed  will  tell  you 
Ask  me  no  more  at  present.     Trust  to  me. 
Yc  may  tnist  safely.     By  the  living  God 
Ve  criye  him  over,  not  to  his  good  angel ! 
FarSweU.  ,  .„     [Exit  BvrvKfL 

SERVANT  {enters  with  a  hillet). 
A  stranger  left  it,  and  is  gone. 
The  Prince-Duke's  horses  wait  for  you  below. 

[Esfit  Servant 


"198  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  [ACT   II. 

ocTAvro  (reads). 
"  Be  sure  make  haste  !  Your  faithful  Isolan." 
— 0  that  I  had  but  left  this  town  behind  me. 
To  split  upon  a  rock  so  near  the  haven ! — 
Away  !  Tliis  is  no  lon<^er  a  safe  place 
For  me  !    Where  can  my  sou  bo  tarrying ! 


Scene  VIL 

OcTAVio  and  Max.  Piccolomini. 

MAX  enters  almost  in  a  state  of  derangement,  from  extreme 
agitation;  his  eyes  roll  u'ihUy,  his  walk  is  unsteady,  and 
he  appears  not  to  observe  his  father,  who  stands  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  gazes  at  him  nith  a  countenance  expressive  of 
coynpassion.  He  paces  with  long  strides  through  the 
chamber,  then  stands  still  again,  and  at  last  throws  him- 
self into  a  chair,  staring  vacantly  at  the  object  directly 
before  him 

OCTAVIO  (advances  to  him). 
I  am  going  off,  my  son. 

[Receivitig  no  answer,  he  takes  his  hand 
My  son,  farewell. 

MAX. 

Farewell. 

OCTAVIO. 

Thou  wilt  soon  follow  me? 

MAX. 

I  follow  thee? 
Thy  way  is  crooked — it  is  not  my  way. 

[OcTAVio  drops  his  hand,  and  starts  bach. 
0,  hadst  thou  been  but  simple  and  sincere, 
Ne'er  had  it  come  to  this — all  had  stood  otherwise. 
He  had  not  done  that  foul  and  horrible  deed, 
The  virtuous  had  retain  'd  their  influence  o'er  him : 
He  had  not  fallen  into  the  snares  of  villains. 
Wherefore  so  like  a  thief,  and  thief's  accomplice 
Didst  creep  behind  him,  lurking  for  thy  prey ! 
O,  unblest  falsehood  !    Mother  of  all  evil  I 
Thou  misery-making  demon,  it  is  thou 
That  sink'st  us  in  perdition.     Simple  truth, 
Sustainer  of  the  world,  had  saved  us  all ! 


1  QQ 
8C.  VII.]  THE    DEAl-H    OF   WAIXENSTEIN. 

Father.  I  will  not.  I  can  not  excuse  tliee !  ^ 
Wallenstein  has  deceived  me— 0,  most  foully. 
But  tliou  hast  acted  not  much  better. 

OCTA.VIO. 

Son! 
My  son,  ah !  I  forgive  thy  agony !  ^        -  ■    ^ 

MAX.  (rises  and  contemplates  his  father  with  looks  of  snspicwn\ 
Was't  possible  ?  hadst  thou  the  heart,  my  father, 
Hadst  thou  the  heart  to  dnve  it  to  such  lengths, 
With  cold  premeditated  purpose  ?     Thou— 
Hadst  thou  the  heart  to  wish  to  see  him  gmlty 
Rather  than  saved  ?     Thou  risest  by  his  laU. 
Octav-io,  'twill  not  please  me. 

OCTAVTO. 

God  in  heaven! 

MAX. 

O,  woe  is  me !  sure  I  have  changed  my  nat'^ 
How  comes  suspicion  here— m  the  free  soul . 
Hope,  confidence,  belief,  are  gone ;  for  all 
Lied  to  me,  all  that  I  e'er  loved  or  honoured. 
No,  no !  not  all !    She— she  yet  lives  for  me 
And  she  is  true,  and  open  asthe  heavens! 
Deceit  is  everywhere,  hypocrisy, 
Murder,  and  poisoning,  treason,  perjury: 
The  single  holy  spot  is  our  love, 
The  only  unprofaned  in  human  nature. 

OCTAVIO, 

Ma.x. !— we  will  go  together.     'Twill  be  better. 

MAX. 

What?  ere  I've  taken  a  last  parting  leave, 
The  very  last — no,  never  1 

OCTAVIO. 

Spare  thyself 
The  pang  of  necessary  separation. 
Come  with  rae!   Come,  my  son!  .,i  ,i« 

[Attempts  to  take  him  vntn  Mm, 

MAX. 

No  !  as  sure  as  God  lives,  no ! 

OCTAVIO  {more  urgently). 
Come  with  me,  I  command  thee !  I,  thy  father 


200  tllE    DEATH    OF    WALLEXSTEIN.  [ACT  U. 


MAX. 

Command  me  what  is  human.     I  stay  here 

OCTAVIO 

Max. !  in  the  Emperoi's  name  I  bid  thee  come 

MAX. 

No  Emperor  ha^-powet-feo-^esei-ibe 

Laws  to  the  hearL;-and  wouldst  thou  wish  to  rob  lue 

Of  the  sole  blessing  which  my  fate  has  left  me, 

Her  sympathy?  Must  thenji^ueljieed 

Be  done  with  cruelty  ?    The  unalteraHe 

Shall  I  perform  ignobly — steal  away, 

With  stealthy  coward  flight  forsake  her?   No ! 

She  shall  behold  my  suffering,  my  sore  anguish, 

Hear  the  complaints  of  the  disparted  soul, 

And  weep  tears  o'er  me.     Oh !  the  human  race 

Have  steely  souls — but  she  is  as  an  angel. 

From  the  black  deadly  madness  of  despair 

Will  she  redeem  my  soul,  and  in  soft  words 

Of  comfort,  plaining,  loose  this  pang  of  death  ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Thou  wilt  not  tear  thyself  away ;  thou  canst  not 
O,  come,  my  son !  I  bid  thee  save  thy  virtue. 

MAX. 

Squander  not  thou  thy  words  in  vain. 
The  heart  I  follow,  for  I  dare  trust  to  it. 

OCTAVIO  {trembling,  and  losing  all  self-cuvnnantl). 
Max.!  Max.!  if  that  most  damned  thing  could  be. 
If  thou — my  son— my  own  blood — (dare  I  think  it? 
Do  sell  thyself  to  him,  the  infamous. 
Do  stamp  this  brand  upon  our  noble  house, 
Then  shall  the  world  behold  the  horrible  deed 
And  in  unnatural  combat  shall  the  steel 
Of  the  son  triclde  with  the  father's  blood 

MAX. 

0  hadst  thou  always  better  thought  of  men. 
Thou  hadst  then  acted  better.     Curst  suspicion 
Unholy  miserable  doubt !    To  him 
Nothhig  on  earth  remains  unwrench'd  and  firm. 
Who  has  no  faith 


BC.  VII.]  THE    DKATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  201 

OCTAVIO. 

And  if  I  trust  thy  heart, 
Will  it  be  always  in  thy  power  to  follow  it  ? 

MAX. 

The  heart's  voice  thou  hast  not  o'erpowered-  as  htU6 
Will  Wallenstein  he  able  to  o'erpower  it. 

OCTAVIO. 

0,  Max. !  I  see  thee  never  more  again  ! 

MAX. 

Unworthy  of  thee  wilt  thou  never  see  me. 

OCTAVIO. 

I  go  to  Frauenberg— the  Pappenheimers 

1  leave  thee  here,  the  Lothiings  too  ;  Tsokana 

And  Tiefenbach  remain  here  to  protect  thee. 

They  love  thee,  and  are  faithful  to  their  oath. 

And  \f\\\  far  rather  fall  in  gallant  contest 

Than  leave  their  rightful  leader,  and  their  honour. 

MAX. 

Rely  on  this,  I  either  leave  my  life 

In  the  struggle,  or  conduct  them  out  of  Pilsen 

OCTAVIO. 

Farewell,  my  son ! 

MAX. 

Farewell ! 

OCTAVIO. 

How !  not  one  look 
Of  filial  love?    No  grasp  of  the  hand  at  parting^ 
It  is  a  bloody  war  to  which  we  ai'e  going, 
And  the  event  uncertain  and  in  darkness. 
So  used  we  not  to  part — it  was  not  so  ! 
Isitthen  true?   Ihave  asonnolonger? 

[Uax.  falls  into  his  arms,  they  hold  each  other  for  a  tong 
time  in  a  speechless  embrace,  then  go  away  at  different 

{The  Curtain  drops.) 


202  THE    DEATH   OF  WAI.LENSTEIN.  [aCT   III. 

ACT    III. 

Scene  I, 
A  Chamber  in  the  House  of  the  Duchess  of  Friedland. 
Countess  Terzky,  Thekla,  Lady  Neubrunn  {the  two  latter 
sit  at  the  same  table  at  ivork). 
COUNTESS  [watching  them  from  the  opposite  side). 
So  you  have  nothing  to  ask  me — nothing  ? 
I  have  been  waiting  for  a  word  from  you. 
And  could  you  then  endure  in  all  this  time 
Not  once  to  speak  his  name  ? 

[Thekla  remaining  silent,  the  Codntess  rises  and  ad^ 
vances  to  her. 

Why,  how  comes  this ! 
Perhaps  I  am  already  grown  superfluous. 
And  other  ways  exist,  besides  through  me  ? 
Confess  it  to  me,  Thekla :  have  you  seen  him  ? 

THEKLA. 

To-day  and  yesterday  I  have  not  seen  him. 

COUNTESS. 

And  not  heard  from  him,  either  ?    Come,  be  open. 

THEKLA. 

No  syllable. 

COUNTESS. 

And  still  you  are  so  calm? 

THEKLA. 

I  am 

COUNTESS. 

May't  please  you,  leave  us,  Lady  Neubrunn. 

[Exit  Lady  Neobrukn. 

Scene  II. 
The  Countess,  Thekla. 

COUNTESS. 

It  does  not  please  me,  Princess,  that  he  holds 
Himself  so  still,  exactly  at  this  time. 

thekla. 
Exactly  at  this  time  ? 


BC.  n.J         THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIH.  203 

COUNTESS. 

He  uovr  knows  all : 
Twere  now  the  moment  to  declare  himself. 

THEKLA. 

If  I'm  to  understand  you,  speak  less  darkly. 

COUNTESS. 

Twas  for  that  purpose  that  I  hade  her  leave  us. 

Thekla,  you  are  no  more  a  chila.     lour  heart 

Is  now  no  more  in  nonage  :  for  you  love, 

And  boldness  dwells  with  love-that  j/ou  have  proved 

Your  nature  moulds  itself  upon  your  father  s 

More  than  your  mother's  spirit.     Therefore  may  you 

Hear,  what  were  too  much  for  her  fortitude. 

THEKIA. 

Enough:  no  further  preface,  I  entreat  you. 
At  once,  out  with  it !    Be  it  what  it  may. 
It  is  not  possible  that  it  should  torture  me 
More  than  this  introduction.     ^Yhat  have  you 
To  say  to  me  ?     Tell  me  the  whole,  and  briefly ! 

■     COUNTF.SS. 

Youll  not  be  frighten'd 

THEKIJS.. 

Name  it,  I  entreat  you 

COUNTESS. 

It  lies  within  your  power  to  do  your  fathei 
A  weighty  service^ 

THEKEA. 

Lies  within  my  power? 

COUNTESS. 

Max.  Piccolomini  loves  you.     You  can  link  him 
Indissolubly  to  your  father. 

THEKLA. 
1? 

What  need  of  me  for  that?     And  is  he  no* 
Already  link'd  to  him  ? 

COUNTESS. 

He  was. 

THEKLA 

And  wherefore 
Should  he  not  be  so  now— not  be  so  always  ? 


204  THE  di:atii  of  wallenstein.  [act  hi. 

COUNTESS 

He  cleaves  to  the  Emperor  too. 

THEKLA. 

Not  more  than  duty 
And  honour  may  demand  of  him. 

COUNTESS. 

We  ask 
Proofs  of  his  love,  and  not  proofs  of  liis  honour. 
Duty  and  honour ! 

Those  are  ambiguous  words  with  many  meanings 
You  should  interpret  them  for  him  :  his  love 
Should  be  the  sole  definer  of  his  honour. 

THEKLA. 

How? 

COUNTESS. 

The  Emperor  or  you  must  he  renounce. 

THEKLA. 

He  will  accompany  my  father  gladly 

In  his  retirement.     From  himself  you  heard, 

How  much  he  wsh'd  to  lay  aside  the  sword. 

COUNTESS. 

He  must  not  lay  the  sword  aside,  we  mean ; 
He  must  unsheath  it  in  your  father's  cause. 

THEKLA. 

Hell  spend  with  gladness  and  alacrity 

His  life,  his  heart's  blood  in  my  father's  cause. 

If  shame  or  injuiy  be  intended  him. 

COUNTESS. 

You  will  not  understand  me.     Well,  hear  then : — 
Your  father  has  fallen  off  from  the  Emperor, 
And  is  about  to  join  the  enemy 
With  the  whole  soldiery 

THEKLA. 

Alas,  my  mother ! 

COUNTESS. 

ITiere  needs  a  great  example  to  draw  on 
The  army  after  him.     The  Piccolomini 
Possess  the  love  and  reverence  of  the  troops ; 
They  govern  all  opinions,  and  wherever 


gC    jl]  THE    DEATH    OF   WAIXENSTEIN. 

They  lead  the  way,  none  hesitate  to  follow. 
The  son  secures  the  father  to  our  interests— 
You've  much  in  your  hands  at  this  moment. 

THEKLA. 


205 


&Q, 


My  miserable  mother!  ^vnat  a  death-stroke 
Awaits  thee  !-No  !  she  never  will  survive  it. 

COUNTESS. 

She  will  accommodate  her  soul  to  that 

Which  is  and  must  be.     I  do  know  your  mother: 

The  far-off  future  weighs  upon  her  heart 

With  torture  of  anxiety  ;  but  is  it 

Unalterably,  actually  present,  ^ 

She  soon  resigns  herself,  and  bears  it  calmly. 

THEKLA. 

0  my  foreboding  bosom  !     Even  now, 
E'en  now  'tis  here,  that  icy  hand  of  horror  I 
And  my  young  hope  lies  shuddenng  m  its  grasp ; 

1  knew  it  well— no  sooner  had  I  enter  d, 
An  heavy  ominous  presentiment 

Reveal'd  to  me  that  spmts  of  death  were  hovermg 
Over  my  happy  fortune.     But  why  think  i 
First  of  myaelf  ?    My  mother !  0  my  mother ! 

COUNTESS 

Calm  yourself!  Break  not  out  in  vain  lamenting  ! 
Preserve  you  for  your  father  the  firm  fnend, 
And  for  yourself  the  lover,  all  will  yet 
Prove  good  and  fortunate. 

TTTEK.LA. 

Prove  good  I  What  good? 
Must  we  not  part  ?— part  ne'er  to  meet  agam  ? 

COUNTESS. 

He  parts  not  from  you !     Ho  cannot  part  from  yovi. 

THEKLA. 

Alas  for  his  sore  anguish  !     It  will  rend 
His  heart  asunder. 

COUNTESS. 

If  indeed  he  loves  you. 
His  resolution  will  be  speedily  taken 


206  THE   DEATH   OF  WALLEN81EIN  [ACT  III. 

THEKLA. 

His  resolution  will  be  speedily  taken — 

0  do  not  doubt  of  that !     A  resolution  ! 
Does  there  remain  one  to  be  taken  ? 

COUNTESS. 

Hush  I 
Collect  yourseK !     I  hear  your  mother  coming. 

THEKIA. 

How  shall  I  bear  to  see  her  ? 

GOUNTESS. 

Collect  yourself. 

Scene  III. 

To  them  enter  the  Duchess. 

duchess  {to  the  countess). 
Who  was  here,  sister  ?     I  heard  some  one  talking, 
And  passionately  too. 

COUNTKSS. 

Nay  !  there  was  no  one. 
duchess. 

1  am  gi'own  so  timorous,  every  trifling  noise 
Scatters  my  spirits,  and  announces  to  me 
The  footstep  of  some  messenger  of  evil. 

And  you  can  tell  me,  sister,  what  the  event  is  ? 
Will  he  agree  to  do  the  Emperor's  pleasure, 
And  send  the  horse-regiments  to  the  Cardinal  ? 
Tell  me,  has  he  dismiss'd  Von  Questenberg 
With  a  favom'able  answer  ? 

COUNTESS. 

No,  he  has  not. 

DUCHESS. 

Alas !  then  all  is  lost !  I  see  it  comhig. 
The  worst  that  can  come  !  Yes,  they  will  depose  him ; 
The  accursed  business  of  the  Regensb'irg  diet 
Will  all  be  acted  o'er  again ! 

COUNTESS. 

No !  never ! 
Make  your  heart  easy,  sister,  as  to  that. 

[Thekla,  in  extreme  ayltation,  throws  herself  upon  her 
mother,  find  enfolds  her  in  her  arms,  iveeiiuKj 


so    m.]  THE  DEATH   OF  WALTEKSTEIN.  207. 

DUCHESS. 

Yes,  my  poor  child  !  _ 

Thou  too  hast  lost  a  most  affectionate  godmother 

In  the  Empress.     0  that  stem  uuheiiding  man  I 

In  this  unhappy  mai-riage  what  have  I 

Not  suffer'd,  not  endured  ?     For  even  as  li 

I  had  been  link'd  on  to  some  wheel  ot  fare 

That  restless,  ceaseless,  whirls  impetuous  onward, 

1  have  pass'd  a  life  of  frights  and  horrors  wth  hira. 

And  ever  to  the  bruik  of  some  abyss 

With  dizzy  headlong  violence  he  beai's  me.         _ 

Nay,  do  not  weep,  my  child.     Let  not  my  suffermgs 

Presignify  unhappiness  to  thee. 

Nor  blacken  with  their  shade  the  fate  that  waits  thee. 

There  Uves  no  second  Friedland :  thou,  my  cliild, 

Hast  not  to  fear  thy  mother's  destiny. 

THEKLA. 

0  let  us  supplicate  him,  dearest  mother ! 
Quick !  quick  !  here's  no  abiding  place  for  us. 
Here  eveiy  coming  hour  broods  into  life 
Some  new  affrightful  monster 

DUCHESS. 

Thou  ^^'ilt  share 
An  easier,  calmer  lot,  my  child !    We  too, 

1  and  thy  father,  wtnessed  happy  days. 
Still  think  I  with  delight  of  those  first  years. 
When  he  was  making  progress  with  glad  effort, 
^Vhen  his  ambition  was  a  genial  fire. 

Not  that  consuming  flame  which  now  it  is. 

The  Emperor  loved  him,  trusted  him  :  and  all 

He  undertook  could  not  but  be  successful. 

But  since  that  ill-starr'd  day  at  Regensburg, 

Which  plunged  him  headlong  from  his  digmty, 

A  gloomy  uncompanionable  spirit. 

Unsteady  and  suspicious,  has  possess'd  him. 

His  quiet  mind  forsook  him,  and  no  longer 

Did  he  yield  up  himself  in  joy  and  foith 

To  his  old  luck,  and  hulividual  power  ; 

But  thenceforth  tuni'd  his  heart  and  best  affecUons 

All  to  those  cloudy  sciences,  »hich  never 

Have  yet  made  happy  him  who  follow'd  ihem 


208  THE   DEATH   OF  WALLENSTEIN.  [ACT  III 

COUNTESS 

You  see  it,  sister !  as  your  eyes  permit  you 

But  surely  this  is  not  the  conversation 

To  pass  the  time  in  which  we  are  waiting  for  him. 

You  know  he  will  be  soon  here.     Would  you  have  him 

Find  her  in  this  condition  ? 

PTTCHESS 

Come,  my  cliild  ! 
Come  wipe  away  thy  tears,  and  show  thy  father 
A  cheerful  countenance.     See,  the  tie-knot  here 
Is  off — this  hair  must  not  hang  so  dishevell'd. 
Come,  dearest !  dry  thy  tears  up.     They  deform 
Thy  gentle  eye. — Well  now — what  was  I  saying  ? 
Yes,  in  good  truth,  this  Piccolomini 
Is  a  most  noble  and  deser\dng  gentleman. 

COUNTESS. 

That  is  he,  sister ! 
THEKLA  {to  the  COUNTESS,  viith  marks  of  great  oppression  of 
spirits). 
Aunt,  you  will  excuse  me  ?  {Is  going), 

COUNTESS. 

But  whither  ?     See,  your  father  comes 

THEKT.A 

I  cannot  see  him  now 

COUNTESS. 

Nay,  but  bethink  you. 

THEKLA. 

Believe  me,  I  cannot  sustain  his  presence 

COUNTESS. 

But  he  will  miss  you,  will  ask  after  you. 

DUCHESS. 

What  now  ?    Why  is  she  going  ? 

COUNTESS. 

She's  not  well. 
DUCHESS  [anxiously). 
What  ails  then  my  beloved  child  ? 

[Both  follow  tJie  Princess,  ajid  endeavour  to  detain 
her.  During  this  Wallenstein  appears,  engaged 
in  conversation  with  Ilt.o. 


SC.  IT.]  THE   DEATH  OF   WALLEN'STEIN  209 

SCEXE  IV. 

WaLLENSTEI-X,    IiXO,  CotTNTESS,   DuCHESS,  ThEKLA. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

All  quiet  in  the  camp  ? 

ILLO. 

It  is  all  quiet 

WALLENSTEIN. 

In  a  few  hours  may  couriers  come  from  Prague 

With  tidings,  that  this  capital  is  ours. 

Then  we  may  drop  the  mask,  and  to  the  troops 

Assembled  in  this  town  make  known  the  measure 

And  its  result  together.     In  such  cases 

Example  does  the  whole.     TVTioever  is  foremost 

Still  leads  the  herd.     An  imitative  creature 

Is  man.     The  troops  at  Prague  conceive  no  other. 

Than  that  the  Pilsen  army  has  gone  through 

The  forms  of  homage  to  us  ;  and  in  Pilsen 

They  shall  swear  fealty  to  us,  because 

The  example  has  been  given  them  by  Prague. 

Butler,  you  tell  me,  has  declared  himself  ? 

ILLO. 

At  his  own  bidding,  unsolicited, 

He  came  to  offer  you  himself  and  regiment. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I  find  we  must  not  give  implicit  credence 

To  every  warning  voice  that  makes  itself 

Be  listen'd  to  in  the  heart.     To  hold  us  back. 

Oft  does  the  Ijing  Spirit  counterfeit 

The  voice  of  Truth  and  inward  Revelation, 

Scattering  false  oracles.     And  thus  have  I 

To  intreat  forgiveness,  for  that  secretly 

I've  wrong'd  this  honom-able  gallant  man, 

This  Butler :  for  a  feeling,  of  the  which 

I  am  not  master  {fear  I  would  not  call  it). 

Creeps  o'er  me  instantly,  with  sense  of  shuddering, 

At  his  approach,  and  stops  love's  joyous  motion. 

And  this  same  man,  against  whom  I  am  wani'd, 

This  honest  man  is  he,  who  reaches  to  me 

The  first  pledg3  of  my  fortune. 

p 


210  THE    DEATa   OF  WALLEKSTfilll.  [aCT  III. 

ILLO. 

And  doubt  not 
That  his  example  will  win  over  to  you 
The  best  men  in  the  arm}^  '    • 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Go  and  send 
Isolani  hither.     Send  him  immediately 
He  is  under  recent  obligations  to  me : 
With  him  will  I  commence  the  trial.     Go.     [Exit  III/) 

WALLENSTEiN  {turjis  himself  round  to  the  females). 
Lo,  there  the  mother  with  the  darling  daughter 
For  once  well  have  an  interval  of  rest — 
Come  !  my  heart  yeanis  to  live  a  cloudless  hour 
In  the  beloved  circle  of  my  family. 

COUNTESS. 

'Tis  long  smce  we've  been  thus  together,  biother. 

WALLENSTEIN  {to  the  COUNTESS  aside). 
Can  she  sustain  the  news?     Is  she  prepared ? 

COUNTESS. 

Not  yet. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Come  here,  my  sweet  girl!     Seat  thee  by  me 
For  there  is  a  good  spirit  on  thy  lips. 
Thy  mother  praised  to  me  thy  ready  skill ; 
She  says  a  voice  of  melody  dwells  in  thee, 
Which  doth  enchant  the  soul.     Now  such  a  voice 
Will  drive  away  from  me  the  evil  demon 
That  beats  his  black  wngs  close  above  my  head. 

DUCHESS. 

Where  is  thy  lute,  ray  daughter  ?    Let  thy  father 
Hear  some  small  trial  of  thy  skill. 

THEKLA. 

My  mother ! 
1-- 

DUCHESS. 

Trembling  ?    Come,  collect  thyself.     Go,  cheer 
Thy  father. 

THEKLA. 

O  my  mother!     I — I  caimot. 


gC.  IV.]  THK    DKATH    OF   WALI^NSTEII»  211 

COUNTESS. 

How,  what  is  that,  niece  ? 

THEKLA  {to  the  COtTNTESs). 

O  spare  me — siug  — now — in  this  sore  anxiety. 
Of  the  o'erburthen'd  soul — to  siug  to  him. 
Who  is  thrusting,  even  now,  my  motlier  headlong 
Into  her  grave. 

DUCHESS. 

How,  Thekla  !     Humoursome ! 
Wliatl  s^-all  thy  father  have  express'd  a  wish 
In  vain? 

CCUNTESS. 

Here  is  the  lute. 

THEKLA. 

My  God !  how  can  I — 
[TJut  orchestra  plays.  Daring  the  ritornello  Thekla  expresses 
in  her  gestures  and  countenance  the  struggle  of  her  feelings  ; 
and  at  the  moment  that  she  should  begin  to  sing,  contracts 
herself  together,  as  one  shuddering,  throws  the  instrtt.mevi 
down,  and  retires  abruptly. 

DUCHESS. 

My  child  !  0  she  is  ill— 

wallenstein. 

"What  ails  the  maiden  ? 
Say,  is  she  often  so  ? 

COUNTESS 

Since  then  herself 
Has  now  betray 'd  it,  I  too  must  no  longer 
Conceal  it. 


What? 


WALLENSTEIN. 

|i  COUNTESS. 

She  loves  him ! 

WALLKiJSTEIN 

Loves  hiin !     Whom? 

COUNTESS. 

Max.  does  she  love  !  Max.  Piccolomini. 

Hast  thou  ne'er  noticed  it?    Nor  yet  my  sister? 

p  2 


212  THE   DEATH   OF  WALLENSTEIK.  [ACT  lU. 

DUCHESS. 

Was  it  this  that  lay  so  heavy  on  her  heart  ? 

God's  blessing  on  thee,  my  sweet  child  !     Thou  need'st 

Never  take  shame  upon  thee  for  thy  choice. 

COUNTESS. 

This  journey,  if  'twere  not  thy  aim,  ascribe  it 

To  thine  own  self.     Thou  shouldst  have  chosen  anothei 

To  have  attended  her. 

WALLENSTEIN 

And  does  he  know  it? 

COUKTESS. 

-ies,  and  he  hopes  to  win  her ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Hopes  to  win  herl 
Is  the  boy  mad  ? 

COUNTESS. 

Well — hear  it  from  themselves. 

WATXENSTEIN. 

He  thinks  to  carry  off  Duke  Friedland's  daughter! 

Ay  ? — The  thought  pleases  me. 

The  young  man  has  no  grovelling  spirit. 

COUNTESS. 

Since 
Such  and  such  constant  favour  you  have  shown  him— 

WAI.LENSTEIN. 

He  chooses  finally  to  be  my  heir. 
And  true  it  is,  I  love  the  youth  ;  yea,  honour  him. 
But  must  he  therefore  be  my  daughter's  husband? 
Is  it  daughters  only  ?     Is  it  only  children 
That  we  must  show  our  favour  by  ? 

DUCHESS. 

His  noble  disposition  and  his  manners  — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Win  him  my  heart,  but  not  my  daughter. 

DUCHESS. 

Then 
His  rank,  his  ancestors — 

WAU.ENSTEIN. 

Ancestors!     What? 
He  is  a  subject,  and  my  son-in-law 
I  will  seek  out  upon  the  thrones  of  Europe. 


BC.  IV.j  THE   DEATH   OF    WALLENSTEIN.  213 

DUCHESS. 

0  dearest  Albrecht !     Climb  we  not  too  laigh 
Lest  we  should  fall  too  low. 

WALLENSTHIN. 

What !  have  I  paid 
A  price  so  heavy  to  ascend  this  eminence, 
And  jut  out  high  above  the  common  herd, 
Only  to  close  the  mighty  part  1  play 
In  Life's  great  drama,  with  a  common  kinsman? 
Have  I  for  this — 

[Stops  suddenly,  repressing  himself 
She  is  the  only  thing 
That  will  remain  behind  of  me  on  earth ; 
And  I  will  see  a  crown  around  her  head, 
Or  die  in  the  attempt  to  place  it  there. 

1  hazard  all— all !  and  for  this  alone. 
To  lift  her  into  greatness — 

Yea,  in  this  moment,  in  the  which  we  are  speaking- — 

[He  recollects  himself. 
And  I  must  now,  like  a  soft-hearted  father, 
Couple  together  in  good  peasant-fashion 
The  pair,  that  chance  to  suit  each  other's  liking — 
And  I  must  do  it  now,  even  now,  when  I 
Am  stretching  out  the  ^Teath  that  is  to  twine 
My  full  accomplish'd  work — no  !  she  is  the  jewel, 
Which  I  have  treasured  long,  my  last,  my  noblest, 
^  nd  'tis  my  purpose  not  to  let  her  from  me 
For  less  than  a  king's  sceptre. 

DUCHESS. 

0  my  husband ! 
You're  ever  building,  building  to  the  clouds. 
Still  building  higher,  and  still  higher  building. 
And  ne'er  reflect,  that  the  poor  narrow  basis 
Cannot  sustain  the  giddy  tottering  column. 

WALLENSTEIN  {tO  the  COUNTESS). 

Have  you  announced  the  place  of  residence 
Which  I  have  destined  for  her  ? 

COUNTESS. 

No  I  not  yet. 
•Twero  better  you  yourself  disclosed  it  to  her. 


214  THE   UEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  [ACT    III. 

DUCHESS. 

How  ?     Do  we  not  reMrn  to  Carinthia  then  ? 


WALLENSTEIN. 


No 


DUCHESS. 

And  to  no  other  of  your  lands  or  seats  ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

You  would  not  be  secure  there. 

DUCHESS. 

Not  secure 
la  the  Emperor  s  realms,  beneath  the  Emperor's 
Protection? 

WAIXENSTEIN. 

Friedland's  wife  may  be  permitted 
No  longer  to  hope  that, 

DUCHESS. 

0  God  in  heaven ! 
And  have  you  brought  it  even  to  this  ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

In  Holland 
Youll  find  protection. 

DUCHESS. 

In  a  Lutheran  country  ? 
What?     And  you  send  us  into  Lutheran  countries  ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Duke  Franz  of  Lauenburg  conducts  you  thither. 

DUCHESS. 

Duke  Franz  of  Lauenburg  ? 

The  ally  of  Sweden,  the  Emperor  s  enemy. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  Emperor's  enemies  are  mine  no  longer. 

DUCHESS  [casting  a  look  of  terror  on  the  duke  and  the 

COUNTESS). 

Is  it  then  true  ?     It  is.     You  are  degraded  ? 
Deposed  from  the  command?     0  God  in  beavcn  1 

COUNTESS  (aside  to  the  duke). 
Leave  her  in  this  belief.     Thou  seest  she  cannot 
Srpport  the  real  truth. 


SC.  YI.]  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLEIiSTEIN-.  ,215 

Scene  V. 
To  them  enter  Count  Terzky. 

COTJXTE>S. 

—Terzky ! 
What  ails  him  ?     What  an  image  of  affright  I 
He  looks  as  he  had  seen  a  ghost 

TERZKY  {leading  wallexsteix  aside). 
Is  it  thy  command  that  all  the  Croats  — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Mine! 

TERZKY 

We  are  betray 'd. 

WAIXEXSTEIN. 

What? 

TERZKY. 

They  are  oil!     This  tiight 
The  Jagers  like^\-ise  — all  the  villages 
In  the  whole  round  are  empty. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Isolani ! 

TERZKY. 

Him  thou  hast  sent  away.     Yes,  surely. 

WAIXENSTEfN. 

1? 

TERZKY. 

No !     Hast  thou  not  sent  him  off?     Nor  Deodati? 
They  are  vanish'd  both  of  them. 

Scene  VI 
To  them  enter  Iixo 

ILLO. 

Has  Terzky  told  thee  ? 

TERZKY. 

He  knows  all. 

ILLO 

And  likewise 
Tliat  Esterhatzy,  Goetz,  Maradas,  Kiuinitz, 
Kolalto,  Palfl,  have  forsaken  thee. 

TERZKY 

Douiuation ! 


216  THE   DEATH   OF   WALLENSTEIN.  [AOT  IIL 

WALLENSTEIN  (ti'm/cs  at  them). 
Hu3h! 
COUNTESS  [who  has  been  watching  them  ananously  from  the 

distance  and  now  advances  to  them). 
Tcrzky  !     Heaven !     What  is  it?     "What  has  happen 'd  ? 

WALLENSTEIN  [scarcely  suppressing  his  emotions). 
Nothing !  let  us  be  gone ! 

TERZKY  [following  him). 

Theresa,  it  is  nothing. 
COUNTESS  (liolding  him  back). 
Nothing  ?    Do  I  not  see  that  all  the  life-blood 
Has  left  year  cheeks — look  you  not  like  a  ghost?  ■• 

That  even  my  brother  but  affects  a  calmness  ?  '. 

PAGE  (enters). 
An  Aide-de-Camp  inquires  for  the  Count  Terzky. 

[Terzky  folloivs  the  Pagk 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Go,  hear  his  business. 

[To  Iixo. 
This  could  not  have  happen'd 
So  unsuspected  without  mutiny. 
Who  was  on  guard  at  the  gates  ? 

ILLO. 

'Twas  Tiefenbach 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Let  Tiefenbach  leave  guard  without  delay, 
And  Terzky's  grenadiers  relieve  him. 
ILLO  [is  going). 

Stop! 
Hast  thou  heard  aught  of  Butler  ? 

ILLO. 

Him  I  met : 
He  will  be  here  himself  immediately. 
.Butler  remains  unshaken. 

[Illo  exit.     WALLENSTEIN  is  following  htm, 

COUNTESS. 

Let  him  not  leave  thee,  sister !  go,  detain  him ! 
There's  some  misfortune. 

DUCHESS  (clinging  to  him). 

Gracious  Heaven !   What  is  it? 


gC.  Vn."|  THE    DEATH    OF  WALLENSTEIN.  217 

WAIXENSTEIN. 

Be  tranquil !  leave  me,  sister !  dearest  wife  I 
We  are  in  camp,  and  this  is  nought  unusual ; 
B  ere  storm  and  sunsliine  follow  one  another 
With  rapid  interchanges.     These  fierce  spirits 
Champ  the  curb  angrily,  and  never  yet 
Did  quiet  bless  the  temples  of  the  leader 
If  I  am  to  stay,  go  you.     The  plaints  of  women 
111  suit  the  scene  where  men  must  act. 

[He  is  going :  Tkrzks  retunif 

TERZKT. 

Remain  here-     From  this  wmdow  must  we  see  it 

VTALLENSTBIN  {tO  the  COUNTESS). 

Sister,  retirel 

COUNTESS. 

Ko — never 

WALLENSTEIN. 

'Tis  my  will. 
lEBZKY  {leads  the  countess  aside,  and  draicing  her  attention 
to  the  duchess). 

Theresa  ■ 

duchess. 
Sister,  come !  since  he  commands  it. 

Scene  VII. 
Wallenstein,  Terzky. 
WALLENSTEiN  {stepping  to  the  ivindow). 
What  now,  then  ? 

TERZKY. 

There  are  strange  movements  among  all  the  troops, 
And  no  one  knows  the  cause.     Mysteriously, 
With  gloomy  silentness,  the  several  corps 
Marshal  themselves,  each  under  its  own  banners 
Tiefenbach's  corps  make  threat'ning  movements;  only 
The  Pappenheimers  still  remain  aloof 
In  their  own  quarters,  and  let  no  one  enter. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Does  Piccolomini  appear  among  them  ? 

TERZKT. 

We  are  seeking  liim :  he  is  nowhere  to  be  met  with. 


218  THK   DEATH    OF  WALLKSSTEIN.  [ACT  TIL 

WALLENSTEIN. 

WTiat  did  the  Aide-de-Camp  deliver  to  you  ? 

TERZKY. 

Mv  regiments  had  despatch'd  him  ;  yet  once  more 

They  swear  fidelity  to  thee,  and  wait 

The  shout  for  onset,  all  prepared,  and  eager 

WALLENSTEIN. 

But.  whence  arose  this  larum  in  the  camp? 

It  should  hci\3  been  kept  secret  from  the  army, 

Till  fortune  had  decided  for  us  at  Prague. 

TERZKY. 

0  that  thou  hadst  believed  me !     Tester  evening 
Did  we  conjure  thee  not  to  let  that  skuiken 
That  fox,  Octavio,  pass  the  gates  of  Pilsen. 
Thou  gavest  him  thy  own  horses  to  flee  from  thee 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  old  tune  still !     Now,  once  for  all,  no  more 
Of  this  suspicion — it  is  doting  folly. 

TERZKY. 

Thou  didst  confide  in  Isolani  too  ; 

And  lo !  he  was  the  first  that  did  desert  thee 

WAIXENSTEIN. 

It  was  but  yesterday  I  rescued  him 

From  abject  wretchedness.     Let  that  go  by ; 

1  never  reckon 'd  yet  on  gratitude. 

And  wherein  doth  he  wrong  in  going  from  me  ? 

He  follows  still  the  god  whom  all  his  life 

He  has  worshipp'd  at  the  gaming-table.     With 

My  fortune,  and  my  seeming  destiny. 

He  made  the  bond,  and  broke  it  not  with  me. 

1  am  but  the  ship  in  which  his  hopes  were  stow'd 

And  with  the  which,  well-pleased  and  confident, 

He  traversed  the  open  sea ;  now  he  beholds  it 

In  eminent  jeopardy  among  the  coast-rocks, 

And  hurries  to  preserve  his  wares.     As  light 

As  the  free  bird  from  the  hospitable  twig 

Where  it  had  nested,  he  flies  off  from  me : 

No  human  tie  is  snapp'd  betwixt  us  two 

Yea,  he  deserves  to  find  himself  deceived 

\(\"ho  seeks  a  heart  in  the  xmthinlung  mjm. 


80.  VIII.]  TIIK    PEATH    OF    WALLLNSTKIN  219 

Like  shadows  on  a  stream,  the  forms  of  life 
Impress  theii*  characters  on  the  smooth  forehead. 
Nought  sinks  into  the  bosom's  silent  depth : 
Quick  sensibility  of  pain  and  pleasure 
Moves  the  light  fluids  lightly;  but  no  soul 
Warmeth  the  inner  frame. 

TEBZKT. 

Yet,  would  I  rather 
Trust  the  smooth  brow  than  that  deep  furrow'd  one 

Scene  YIII. 
Wallenstein,  Terzky,  Illo. 
ILLO  (u7io  eriters  agitated  with  rage). 
Treason  and  mutiny ! 

TERZKY. 

And  what  further  now  ? 

ILLO. 

TiefeJibach 's  soldiers,  -when  I  gave  the  orders, 
To  go  off"  guard — Mutinous  villains  ' 

TEEZKY. 

Well! 

WALLENSTEIN 

What  followed  ? 

ILLO. 

They  refused  obedience  to  them. 

TERZKY. 

Fire  on  them  instantly  !     Give  out  the  order. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Gently!  what  cause  did  they  assign? 

ILLO. 

No  other, 
They  said,  had  right  to  issue  orders  but 
Lieutenant-General  Piccolomini. 

WiLLENSTEiN  [iu  a  coHvulsion  of  agony). 
\\Tiat?     How  is  that^ 

ILLO. 

He  takes  that  office  on  him  by  commission. 
Under  sign-manual  of  the  Emperor. 

TEKZKY. 

From  the  Emperor — hearst  tiiou,  D'ike  ? 


220  THE  DEATH  OF  WAIXENSTEIN.  [ACT  III 

ILLO 

At  his  iucitement 
The  Generals  made  that  stealthy  flight — 

TERZKY 

Duke!  hear'st  thou? 

Caraffa  too,  and  Montecuculi. 

Are  missing,  with  six  other  Generals, 

AH  whom  he  had  induced  to  follow  him. 

This  plot  he  has  long  had  in  writing  by  him 

From  the  Emperor ;  but  'twas  finally  concluded, 

With  all  the  detail  of  the  operation. 

Some  days  ago  with  the  Envoy  Questenberg. 

[Wallenstein  si7iks  down  into  a  chair,  and  covers  his/ac4. 

TERZKY. 

0  hadst  thou  but  believed  me ! 

Scene  IX. 

To  them  enter  the  Countess. 

countess. 

This  suspense. 
This  horrid  fear — 1  can  no  longer  bear  it. 
For  heaven's  sake  tell  me  what  has  taken  place  ? 

ILLO. 

The  regiments  are  all  falling  off  from  us. 

TERZKY. 

Octavio  Piccolomini  is  a  traitor. 

COUNTESS. 

0  my  foreboding ! 

[Rushes  out  of  the  room. 

TERZKY 

Hadst  thou  but  believed  me ! 
Now  seest  thou  how  the  stars  have  lied  to  thee, 

WALLENSTEIN 

The  stars  lie  not ;  but  we  have  here  a  work 

Wrought  counter  to  the  stars  and  destiny. 

The  science  is  still  honest :  this  false  heart 

Forces  a  lie  on  the  truth-telling  heaven. 

On  a  divine  law  divination  rests ; 

Where  nature  deviates  from  that  law,  and  stumbles 


so.  X.]  THK   DEATH   OF  WAIXEN8TE1N  221 

Out  of  her  limits,  there  all  science  errs. 

True  I  did  not  suspect !     Were  it  superstition 

Never  by  such  suspicion  t'  have  affronted 

The  human  form,  0  may  that  time  ne'er  come 

In  which  I  shame  me  of  the  infirmity. 

The  wildest  savage  drinks  not  with  the  victim. 

Into  whose  breast  he  means  to  plunge  the  sword. 

This,  this,  Octavio,  was  no  hero's  deed : 

'Twas  not  thy  prudence  that  did  conquer  mine ; 

A  bad  heart  triumph'd  o'er  an  honest  one. 

No  shield  received  the  assassin  stroke ;  thou  plungest 

Thy  weapon  on  an  unprotected  breast — 

Against  such  weapons  I  am  but  a  child. 

Scene  X. 
To  these  enter  Butleb. 
TERZKY  (meeting  him). 
0  look  there !  Butler !  Here  we've  still  a  friend! 
WALi-ENSTEiN  {meets  him  with  outspread  arms,  and  embraces 
him  with  warmth). 
Come  to  my  heart,  old  comrade  !     Not  the  sun 
Looks  out  upon  us  more  revivingly 
In  the  earliest  month  of  spring, 
Than  a  friend's  countenance  in  such  an  hour 

BUTLER. 

My  General:  I  come— 

WALLENSTEiN  {leaning  on  butler's  shoulder) 
Know'st  thou  already  ? 
That  old  man  has  betray 'd  me  to  the  Emperor. 
What  say'st  thou?  Thirty  years  have  we  together 
Lived  out,  and  held  out,  sharing  joy  and  hardship. 
We  have  slept  in  one  camp-bed,  drunk  from  one  glass, 
One  morsel  shared !     T  lean'd  myself  on  him. 
As  now  I  lean  me  on  thy  faithful  shoulder. 
And  now  in  the  very  moment,  when,  all  love, 
All  confidence,  my  bosom  beat  to  his, 
He  sees  and  takes  the  advantage,  stabs  the  knife 
Slowly  into  my  heart. 

[He  hides  his  face  on  Butleb  s  hreast. 


222  i-Hjj   DEATH   OF   WALLEK6TEIN'.  [a:t  Hi. 

BUTLER. 

Forget  the  false  one. 
What  is  your  present  purpose  ? 

WALLENSTErN. 

Well  remember  d  I 
Courage,  my  soul !     I  am  still  rich  in  friends, 
Still  loved  by  Destiny ;  for  in  the  moment 
That  it  unmasks  the  plotting  hvpocrite, 
It  sends  and  proves  to  me  one 'faithful 'heart. 
Of  the  hypocrite  no  more  !     Think  not,  his  loss 
Was  that  which  struck  the  pang :  0  no  !  his  treason 
Is  that  which  strikes  this  pang  !     No  more  of  him  ! 
Dear  to  my  heart,  and  honour 'd  were  they  both. 
And  the  young  man— yes— he  did  truly  love  me, 
lie — he— has  not  deceived  me      But  enough. 
Enough  of  this — swift  counsel  now  beseems' us. 
The  Courier,  whom  Count  Kinsky  sent  from  Pra<'ue, 
I  expect  him  every  moment :  and  whatever  ° 

He  may  bring  Avith  him,  we  must  take  good  cai-e 
To  keep  it  from  the  mutineers.     Quick  then  ! 
Despatch  some  messenger  you  can  rely  on 
To  meet  him,  and  conduct  lum  to  me, 

[Illo  is  going. 
BUTLER  {detaining  him). 
My  General,  whom  e.\pect  you  then? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  Courier 
Who  brings  me  word  of  the  event  at  Pi-ague. 

BUTLER  (hesitatinri). 
Hem!  ^  i 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And  what  now  ? 

BUTLER. 

You  do  not  know  it  ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

WeU? 

BUTLER. 

From  what  that  larum  in  the  camp  arose  ? 

WALLENSTEIN 

From  what? 


X.l  THE  DEATH  OF  WALLEKSTELN.  223 

buti.kk. 

That  Courier 

WALLENSTEiK  (idth  ea<jer  expectation). 
WeU? 

BUTLEB. 

Is  already  nere. 
TERZKY  and  ILLO  {at  the  same  time). 
Already  liere? 

\V'ALLENSTEIN- 

My  Courier? 

BUl'LEB. 

For  some  hours. 

WALLEN  STEIN. 

And  I  not  know  it  ? 

BUTLEB. 

The  sentinels  detain  him 

In  custody.  •    /•     \ 

ILLO  {stamping  with  his  foot). 

Damnation ! 

BUTLEB. 

And  his  letter 
Was  broken  open,  and  is  cii'culated 
Through  the  whole  camp. 

WALLENSTEIN, 

You  know  what  it  contiiins  ? 

BUTLEB. 

Question  me  not ! 

TEBZKY. 

lUo  !  alas  for  us 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Hide  nothing  from  me— 1  can  hear  the  worst. 
Prague  then  is  lost.     It  is.     Confess  it  freely. 

BUTLER. 

Yes  !  Prague  is  lost.     And  all  the  several  regiments 

At  Budweiss,  Tabor,  Braunau,  Kouigiugratz, 

At  Brunn  and  Znaym,  have  forsalieu  you, 

And  ta'en  the  oaths  of  fealty  anew 

To  the  Emperor.     Yourself,  with  Kinsky,  Ter/ky. 

And  Illo  have  been  sentenced. 

[Tebzky  and  Illo  express  alarm   and  Jury.     Wal- 
LKNSTEiN  remains  Jinn  and  collected. 


224  THE  DEATH   OF  WALLEN8TEIN.  [acI  HI. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

'Tis  decided/ 
'Tis  well !     I  have  received  u  sudden  cure 
From  all  tlie  pangs  of  doubt :  with  steady  stream 
Once  more  my  life-blood  flows  !     My  soul's  secure  ! 
In  the  night  only  Friedland's  stars  can  beam. 
Lingering  irresolute,  with  fitful  fears 
I  drew  the  sword — 'twas  with  an  inward  strife, 
"While  yet  the  choice  was  mine.     The  murderous  knife 
Is  lifted  for  my  heart !     Doubt  disappears  ! 
I  fight  now  for  my  head  and  for  my  life. 

[Exit  Wallenstein  ;  the  others  follow  htm. 

Scene  XI. 
COUNTESS  TEBZKY  {enters  from  a  side  room). 
I  can  endure  no  longer     No  ! 

[Looks  around  her. 
Where  are  they ! 
No  one  is  here.     They  leave  me  all  alone, 
Alone  in  this  sore  anguish  of  suspense. 
And  I  must  wear  the  outward  show  of  calmness 
Before  my  sister,  and  shut  in  within  me 
The  pangs  and  agonies  of  my  crowded  bosom. 
It  is  not  to  be  borne.     If  all  should  fail ; 
If — if  he  must  go  over  to  the  Swedes, 
An  empty-handed  fugitive,  and  not 
As  an  ally,  a  covenanted  equal, 
A  proud  commander  with  his  army  following , 
If  we  must  wander  on  from  land  to  land. 
Like  the  Count  Palatine,  of  fallen  greatness 
An  ignominious  monument.     But  no ! 
That  day  I  will  not  see !     And  could  himself 
Endure  to  sink  so  low,  1  would  not  bear 
To  see  him  so  low  sunken. 

Scene  XII. 
Countess,  Duchess,  Thekla. 
TiiEKLA  {endeavouring  to  hold  back  the  duchess) 
Dear  mother,  do  stay  here ! 

DUCHESS. 

No !     Here  is  yet 
Some  f.'ightful  mystery  that  is  hidden  from  me. 


iO.  XllI.J  THE   DEATH    OK    WALLENSTEIN.  22i 

Why  does  my  sister  shun  me  ?     Don't  I  see  her 
Full  of  suspense  and  anguish  roam  about 
From  room  to  room  ?     Art  thou  not  full  of  terror  ? 
And  what  import  these  silent  nods  and  gestures 
Which  steaith^ise  thou  exchangest  with  her  ? 

THEKLA. 

Nothing : 
Nothing,  dear  mother ! 

DUCHESS  {to  the  countess). 

Sister,  I  will  know. 

COUNTESS. 

What  boots  it  now  to  hide  it  from  her  ?     Sooner 

Or  later  she  must  learn  to  hear  and  bear  it. 

'Tis  not  the  time  now  to  indulge  infirmity ; 

Courage  beseems  us  now,  a  heart  collect, 

And  exercise  and  previous  discipline 

Of  fortitude.     One  word,  and  over  with  it ! 

Sister,  you  are  deluded.     You  believe 

The  Duke  has  been  deposed — the  Duke  is  not 

Deposed — he  is 

THEKLA  {going  to  the  countess). 

What  ?  do  you  wish  to  kill  her  ? 

COUNTESS. 

The  Duke  is 

THEKLA  {throwing  her  arms  round  her  mother). 

0  stand  firm  !  stand  firm,  my  motlier  I 
countess. 
Efivolted  is  the  Duke  ;  he  is  prepaiing 
To  join  the  enemy  ;  the  army  leave  him, 
And  all  has  fail'd. 

Scene  XIII. 
A  spacious  Boom  in  the  Duke  of  Friedland's  Palace. 
WALLEN stein  (ui  armour). 
Thou  hast  gain'd  thy  point,  Octavio  !     Once  more  am  I 
Almost  as  friendless  as  at  Regensburg. 
There  I  had  nothing  left  me,  but  myseK ; 
But  what  one  man  can  do,  you  have  now  experience. 
The  twigs  have  you  hew'd  off,  and  here  I  stand 
A  leafless  trunk.     But  in  the  sap  within 


226  THE  UEAIH  Of  WALLENSTEIN'.        [aCT  III. 

Lives  the  creating  power,  and  a  new  world 
May  sprout  forth  from  it.     Once  already  have  1 
Proved  myself  worth  an  army  to  you — 1  alone ! 
Before  the  Swedish  strength  your  troops  had  melted ; 
Beside  the  Lech  sank  Tilly  your  last  hope  ; 
Into  Bavaria,  like  a  winter  torrent, 
Did  that  Gustavus  pour,  and  at  Vienna 
In  his  own  palace  did  the  Emperor  tremble 
Soldiers  were  scarce,  for  still  the  multitude 
Follow  the  luck  :  all  eyes  were  turn'd  on  me, 
Their  helper  in  distress  :  the  Emperor's  pride 
Bow'd  itself  down  before  the  man  he  had  injured. 
'Twas  I  must  rise,  and  with  creative  word 
Assemble  forces  in  the  desolate  camps. 
1  did  it.     Like  a  god  of  war,  my  name 
Went  through  the  world.     The  drum  was  beat ;  and,  lo  ; 
The  plough,  the  workshop  is  forsaken,  all 
Swarm  to  the  old  familiar  long-loved  banners  ; 
And  as  the  wood-choir  rich  in  melody 
Assemble  quick  around  the  biiil  of  wonder. 
When  first  his  throat  swells  with  his  magic  song, 
So  did  the  warlike  youth  of  Germany 
Crowd  in  around  the  image  of  my  eagle 
I  feel  myself  the  being  that  I  was. 
It  is  the  soul  that  builds  itself  a  body. 
And  Friedland  s  camp  will  not  remain  unfill'd 
Lead  then  your  thousands  out  to  meet  me — true ' 
They  are  accustom'd  under  me  to  conquer. 
But  not  against  me.     If  the  head  and  limbs 
Separate  from  each  other,  'twill  be  soon 
Made  manifest,  in  which  the  soul  abode 
(ILLO  and  TERZKY  enter.) 
Courage,  friends  !  courage  !  we  are  still  unvanquish'd 
1  feel  my  footing  firm  ;  five  regiments,  Terzky, 
Are  still  our  own,  and  Butler's  gallant  troops  ; 
And  an  host  of  sixteen  thousand  Swedes  to-morrow. 
I  was  not  stronger  when,  nine  years  ago, 
I  marched  forth,  with  glad  heart  and  high  of  ho^ie, 
To  conquer  Germany  for  the  Emperor. 


EC.  XV.]  THK    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTKIX.  -- ' 

Scene  XIV. 

Wallenstein,  Ilt.o,  Terzky 

(To  them  enter  Neumann,  tcho  leads  Terzky  aside,  and  talli 

uith  him.) 

TERZKY. 

What  do  they  want  ? 

WAT  XEN  STEIN. 

What  now  ? 

TERZKY. 

Ten  Cuirassiers 
From  Pappenbeim  request  leave  to  address  you 
In  the  name  of  the  regiment. 

WALLENSTEIN  [hastily  to  nedmann). 
Let  them  enter. 

[Exit  Neumann 
This 
May  end  in  something.     Mark  you.     They  are  still 
.  Doubtful,  and  may  be  won 

Scene  XV 
Wallenstein,  Terzky,  Illo,  ten  Cuirassiers  [led  hy  an  Ax- 
spessade*,  march  vp  and  arrange  themselves,  after  tii<^ 
word  of  command,  in  one  front  before  the  Duke,  and  make 
their  obeisance.  He  takes  his  hat  off,  and  immediately 
covers  himslf  again). 

ANSPESSADE. 

Halt!  Front!  Present! 
WALLENSTEiN  {after  he  has  run  through  them  uith  his  eye,  to 

the  ANSPESSADE K 

1  know  thee  well.     Thou  art  out  of  Briiggen  in  Flanders  : 
Thy  name  is  M  ercy 

ANSPESSADE. 

Henrj'  Mercy 

WAI.LENSTEIN. 

Thou  wert  cut  off  on  the  march,  surrounded  by  the  Ues- 
Bians,  and  didst  fight  thy  way  xs-ith  an  hundred  and  eighty 
men  through  their  thousand. 

•  Anspessade,  in  German  Gefreiter,  a  soldier  inferior  to  a  corporal,  b>it 
above  the  sentinels.  The  German  name  implies  that  he  is  exempt  from 
mounting  guard.  ^ 


228  THE  DEATH   OF   WALLEKSTKIN.  Uct   Ul 

ANSPESSADE 

'Twas  even  so,  General ! 

WALLENSTEIH. 

What  reward  hadst  thou  for  this  gallant  exploit  ? 

ANSPESSADE. 

That  which  I  asked  for :  the  honour  to  serve  in  this  corps 

WALLENSTEiN  [turning  to  a  second). 
Thou  wert  among  the  volunteers  that  seized   and    made 
booty  of  the  Swedish  battery  at  Altenbui-g. 

SECOND    CUIEASSIEB. 

Yes,  General! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I  forget  no  one  with  whona  I  have  exchanged  words.     (A 
pause.)     Who  sends  you? 

ANSPESSADE. 

Your  noble  regiment,  the  Cuirassiers  of  Piccolomini. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Wliy  does  not  your  colonel  deliver  in  your  request,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  service  ? 

ANSPESSADE. 

Because  we  would  first  know  whom  we  serve. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Begin  your  address. 

ANSPESSADE  {giving  the  word  of  command) 
Shoulder  your  arms ! 

WALLENSTEIN  (turning  to  a  third). 
Thy  name  is  Risbeck ;  Cologne  is  thy  birth-place, 

THIKD    CUIRASSIER. 

Risbeck  of  Cologne. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It  was  thou  that  broughtest  in  the  Swedish  colonel,  Dii- 
bald,  prisoner,  in  the  camp  at  Niiremberg. 

THIRD   CUIRASSIER 

It  was  not  I,  General. 

WALLENSTEIN 

Perfectly  right!    It  was  thy  elder  brother:  thou  hadst  a 
younger  brother  too :  Where  did  he  stay  ? 

THIRD    CUIRASSIER. 

He  is  stationed  at  Olmiitz,  with  the  Imperial  army. 


SC.  XV.j  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLENSTEIS. 


90f) 


WALLENSTEIN    {tO    the   ANSPESSADE). 

Now  then — begin. 

ANSPESSADE. 

There  came  to  hand  a  letter  froui  the  Emperor 
Commanding  us — 

WALI.ENSTKIN  [wterrvpting  him). 
Who  cliose  you  ? 

ANSPESSADE. 

Eve  17  company 
Drew  its  own  man  by  lot. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Now !  to  the  bushiess. 

ANSPESSADE 

There  came  to  hand  a  letter  from  the  Emperor 
Commanding  us  collectively,  from  tliee 
Ail  duties  of  obedience  to  withdraw, 
Because  thou  wert  an  enemy  and  traitor 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And  what  did  you  determine  ? 

ANSPESSADE. 

All  our  comrades 
At  Braunau,  Budweiss,  Prague  and  Olmiitz,  have 
Obey'd  already ;  and  the  regiments  here, 
Tiefenbach  and  Toscano,  instantly 
Did  follow  their  example.     But — but  we 
Do  not  believe  that  thou  art  an  enemy 
And  traitor  to  thy  country,  hold  it  merely 
For  lie  and  trick,  and  a  tmmped  up  Spanish  story ! 

[With  warmth. 
Thyself  shalt  tell  us  what  thy  purpose  is, 
For  we  have  found  thee  still  sincere  and  true ; 
No  mouth  shall  interpose  itself  betwixt 
The  gallant  General  and  the  gallant  troops. 

WALI.KNSTEIN. 

Therein  I  recognise  my  Pappenheimers. 

ANSPESSADE. 

And  this  proposal  makes  thy  regiment  to  thee  • 
Is  it  thy  purpose  merely  to  preserve 
In  thine  o\vn  hands  this  military  sceptre. 
Which  so  becomes  thee,  which  the  Emperor 
Made  over  to  thee  by  a  covenant ! 


2if0  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLENSTEIN.  [aCT  III. 

Is  it  thy  pui-pose  merely  to  remain 

Supreme  commander  of  the  Austrian  armies  ? — 

We  will  stand  by  thee,  General !  and  guarantee 

Thy  honest  rights  against  all  opposition. 

And  should  it  chance,  that  all  the  other  regiments 

Turn  from  thee,  by  ourselves  will  we  stand  forth 

Thy  faithful  soldiers,  and.  as  is  our  duty, 

Far  rather  let  ourselves  be  cut  to  pieces, 

Than  suffer  thee  to  fall.     But  if  it  be 

As  the  Emperor's  letter  says,  if  it  be  true. 

That  thou  in  traitorous  wise  wilt  lead  us  over 

To  the  enemy,  which  God  in  heaven  forbid! 

Then  we  too  will  forsake  thee,  and  obey 

That  letter — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Hear  me,  children! 

ANSPESSADE. 

Yes,  or  no ! 
There  needs  no  other  answer 

WALLENSTEIN 

Yield  attention. 
You're  men  of  sense,  examine  for  yourselves  ; 
Ye  think,  and  do  not  follow  with  the  herd : 
And  therefore  have  I  always  shown  you  honour 
Above  all  others,  suffer'd  you  to  reason ; 
Have  treated  you  as  free  men,  and  my  orders 
Were  but  the  echoes  of  your  prior  suffrage. — 

ANSPESSADE. 

Most  fair  and  noble  has  thy  conduct  been 

To  US,  my  General !  With  thy  confidence 

Thou  hast  honour'd  us,  and  shown  us  grace  and  favo 

Beyond  all  other  regiments ;  and  thou  seest 

We  follow  not  the  common  herd.     We  will 

Stand  by  thee  faithfully.     Speak  but  one  word— 

Thy  word  shall  satisfy  us,  that  it  is  not 

A  treason  which  thou  meditatest — that 

Thou  meanest  not  to  lead  the  army  over 

To  the  enemy  ;  nor  e'er  betray  thy  country. 

WAIXENSTEIN. 

Me,  me  are  they  betraying.     The  Emperor 
Hath  sacrificed  me  to  my  enemiee. 


EC.  XV.]  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLESSXEIN  231 

And  I  must  fall,  unless  my  gallant  troops 

Will  rescue  me.     See  !  I  confide  in  you. 

And  be  your  hearts  my  stronghold !  At  this  breast 

The  aim  is  taken,  at  this  hoary  head. 

This  is  your  Spanish  gratitude,  this  is  our 

Requital  for  that  murderous  fight  at  Lutzen  I 

For  this  ^Ye  threw  the  naked  breast  against 

The  halbert,  made  for  this  the  frozen  earth 

Our  bed,  and  the  hard  stone  our  pillow  !  never  str.ain 

Too  rapid  for  us,  nor  wood  too  impervious  ; 

With  cheerful  spmt  we  pursued  that  Man^feld. 

Throuc^h  all  the  turns  and  windings  ol  his  Hignt . 

Yea,  our  whole  life  was  but  one  restless  march : 

And  homeless,  as  the  stirring  wind,  we  traveil  d 

O'er  the  war-wasted  earth.     And  now,  even  now. 

That  we  have  well  nigh  finish'd  the  hard  toil. 

The  unthankful,  the  curse-laden  toil  of  weapons. 

With  faithful  indefatigable  arm 

Have  roird  the  heavy  war-load  up  the  hill, 

Behold!  this  boy  of  the  Emperor's  beai-s  away 

The  honours  of  the  peace,  au  easy  prize  . 

Hell  weave,  forsooth,  into  his  flaxen  locks 

The  olive  branch,  the  hard-eam'd  ornament 

Of  this  grey  head,  grown  grey  beneath  the  helmet. 

ANSPESSADE. 

That  shall  he  not,  while  we  can  hinder  it ! 

No  one,  but  thou,  who  hast  conducted  it 

With  fame,  shall  end  this  war,  this  frightful  wai 

Thouleddest  US  out  to  the  bloody  field 

Of  death ;  thou  and  no  other  shalt  conduct  us  home, 

Reioicing,  to  the  lovely  plains  of  peace— 

Shalt  share  with  us  the  fruits  of  the  long  toil- 

WAIXENSTEIN. 

What'  Think  you  then  at  length  in  late  old  age 
To  enjoy  the  fruits  of  toil?  Believe  it  not. 
Never,  no  never,  will  you  see  the  end 
Of  the  contest !  you  and  me,  and  all  ot  us. 
This  war  will  swallow  up !  War,  war,  not  peace, 
la  Austria's  wish  ;  and  therefore,  because  1 
Endeavour'd  after  peace,  therefore  I  tall 
Vcv  what  cares  Austria,  how  long  the  war 


232  THE   DEATH    OF   VTALI.ENSTEIN.  [aCT  IJl. 

Wears  out  the  armies  and  lays  waste  the  world ! 
She  will  but  wax  and  grow  amid  the  ruin 
And  still  win  new  domains 

[The  Cuirassiers  express  agitation  by  their  gestures 
Ye  re  moved — I  see 
A  noble  rage  flash  from  your  eyes,  ye  warriors ! 
Oh  that  my  spirit  might  possess  you  now 
Daring  as  once  it  led  you  to  the  battle ! 
Ye  would  stand  by  me  with  your  veteran  arms, 
Protect  me  in  my  rights ;  and  this  is  noble  ! 
But  think  not  that  yoii  can  accomplish  it, 
Your  scanty  number !  to  no  purpose  will  you 
Have  sacrificed  you  for  your  General.     [Confidentially, 
No  !  let  us  tread  securely,  seek  for  friends ; 
The  Swedes  have  proffer 'd  us  assistance,  let  us 
Wear  for  a  while  the  appearance  of  good  will, 
And  use  them  for  your  profit,  till  we  both 
Carry  the  fate  of  Europe  in  our  hands, 
And  from  our  camp  to  the  glad  jubilant  world 
Lead  Peace  forth  with  the  garland  on  her  head ! 

ANSPESSADE. 

'Tis  then  but  mere  appearances  which  thou 
Dost  put  on  with  the  Swede  !  Thou'lt  not  betray 
The  Emperor?    Wilt  not  turn  us  into  Swedes? 
This  is  the  only  thing  which  we  desire 
To  learn  from  thee. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Wliat  care  I  for  the  Swedes  ? 
1  hate  them  as  I  hate  the  pit  of  hell, 
And  under  Providence  I  trust  right  soon 
To  chase  them  to  their  homes  across  their  Baltic. 
My  cares  are  only  for  the  whole :  I  have 
A  heart — it  bleeds  within  me  for  the  miseries 
And  piteous  groaning  of  my  fellow  Germans. 
Ye  are  but  common  men,  but  yet  ye  think 
With  minds  not  common ;  ye  appear  to  me 
Worthy  before  all  others,  that  I  whisper  ye 
A  little  word  or  two  in  confidence  ! 
See  now  !  already  for  full  fifteen  years, 
The  war-torch  has  continued  burning,  yet 
No  rest,  no  pause  of  conflict.     Swede  and  German, 


SC.  XVI.]  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  233 

r-apist  and  Lutheran  !  neither  ^ill  give  way 
To  the  other,  eveiy  hand's  against  the  other. 
Each  one  is  party  and  no  one  a  judge. 
Where  shall  this  end  ?     Where's  he  that  will  unravel 
This  tangle,  ever  Singling  more  and  more 
It  must  be  cut  asunder. 
1  feel  that  I  am  the  man  of  destiny, 
And  trust,  with  your  assistance,  to  accomplish  it. 
SCEKE  XYI. 

To  these  enter  Butler. 

BUTLER  [passionately) 
General  1     This  is  not  right ! 

WALLEXSTEIN. 

What  is  not  right  ? 

BUTLEE. 

It  must  needs  injure  us  with  all  honest  men 

WALLEXSTEIN. 

But  what? 

BUTLER. 

It  is  an  open  proclamation 
Of  insurrection. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Well,  well— but  what  is  it? 

BUTLER. 

Count  Terzky's  regiments  tear  the  Imperial  Eagle 
From  off  the'  banners,  and  instead  of  it 
Have  rear'd  aloft  their  arms. 

AKSPESSADE  {ahrujythj  to  the  Cuirassiers). 

Plight  about !  March ! 

WALI,ENSTEIN. 

Cursed  be  this  counsel,  and  accursed  who  gave  it ! 

[To  the  Cuirassiers,  tcho  are  retiring 
Halt,  children,  halt !  There's  sonic  mistake  in  this ; 
Hark! — I  will  punish  it  severely.     Stop  ! 
They  do  not  hear.  {To  Illo).  Go  after  them,  assure  them, 
And  bring  them  back  to  me,  cost  what  it  may. 

[Illo  hwries  out 
This  hurls  us  headlong.     Butler !  Butler ! 
You  are  my  evil  genius,  wherefore  must  vou 
Announce  it  in  their  presence  ?     It  was  all 


234  THE   DEATH    OF   WALLEKSTEIN.  [ACT  111. 

In  a  fair  wav.     They  were  half  won !  those  madmen 
With  their  improvident  over-readiness — 
A  cruel  game  is  Fortune  playing  with  mo. 
The  zeal  of  friends  it  is  that  razes  me, 
And  not  the  hate  of  enemies. 

Scene  XVII 

To  ihese  enter  the  Duokess,   u-ho  ruahes  into  the  Chinider 

Thekla  and  the  Countess  follow  her 

duchess. 

O  Alhrecht ! 
What  hast  thou  done  ? 

WALLEKSTEIN. 

And  now  comes  this  beside, 

COUNTESS. 

Forgive  me,  brother !     It  was  not  in  my  power — 
They  know  all. 

DUCHESS. 

What  hast  thou  done  ? 

COUNTESS    {to    TERZKT) 

Is  there  no  hope  ?     Is  all  lost  utterly  ? 

TERZKY. 

All  lost.     No  hope.     Prague  in  the  Emperor's  hands. 
The  soldierj'  have  ta'en  their  oaths  anew 

COUNTESS. 

That  lurking  h}T)ocrite,  Octavio  ! 
Count  Max.  is  off  too. 

TERZKY. 

Whore  can  he  bo  ?     He's 
Gone  over  to  the  Emperor  with  his  father. 

[Thekla  rushes  out  into  the  arms  of  her  mother,  hiditiif 
her  face  in  ner  bosom. 

duchess  (enfolding  her  in  her  arms) 
Unhappy  child!  and  more  unhappy  mother  ! 

WALLENSTEIN   [aside   to    TERZKY). 

Quick  !  Let  a  carriage  stand  in  readiness 

ill  the  court  behind  the  palace.     Scherfenbcrg 

Be  tlieir  attendant ;  he  is  fnithfnl  to  us  • 


•OQ5 

:.  xvm.]  THE    DEATU    OK    WALLENSTEIN. 

To  Egra  bell  conduct  them,  and  ."c  foUow^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^ 
Thou  hast  not  brought  them  back? 

ILLO.  ,  , 

Hear'st  thou  the  uproar  ; 
The  whole  corps  of  the  Pappenheimers  is 
Drawn  out :  the  younger  Piccolomnu, 
Their  colonel,  they  requn-e  :  for  they  attirm, 
That  lie  is  in  the  palace  here,  a  prisoner ; 
And  if  thou  dost  not  instantly  deliver  him, 
They  .111  and  means  to  free  him  .vith  the^s.or^d^^^  ^^^^^^^^^ 

TERZKY. 

What  shall  we  make  of  this '? 

WALLENSTEIX. 

Said  I  not  so  ? 

0  mv  prophetic  heart!  he  is  still  here 

He  has  not  betray;d  me-he  could  not  beti-ay  me. 

1  never  doubted  of  it. 

COUNTESS. 

If  he  be 

Still  here,  then  all  goes  well ;  for  I  know  what  _ 

[^huioiacinij  iHtKi^-v. 

Will  keep  liim  here  for  ever. 

TERZKY 

It  can't  be. 

His  father  has  betray 'd  us,  is  gone  over 

To  the  Emperor-the  son  could  not  have  ventured 

To  stay  behind.  ,,     j      \ 

THEKLA  (her  eye  fixed  on  the  door). 
There  he  is  1 

Scene  XVIII. 
To  these  enter  Max  Piccoi.omini 

MA.K. 

Yes  :  here  he  is  !     I  can  endure  no  longer 
To  creep  on  tiptoe  round  this  house,  and  lurk 
In  ambush  for  a  favourable  moment : 
This  loitering,  this  suspense  exceeds  my  powers 
[Advovcim,  to  Thekea,  who  has  throun  JierselJ  into  he, 
mother's  arms 


236  THE    DEATH    OD    WALLEKSTEIN.  [ACT  III 

Turn  uot  tliine  eyes  away.     0  look  upou  me  ! 
Confess  it  freely  bofoi'e  all.     Fear  no  one. 
Let  who  will  hear  that  we  both  love  each  other 
Wlierefore  continue  to  conceal  it?     Secrecy 
Is  for  the  happy — misery,  hopeless  misery, 
Needeth  no  veil !     Beneath  a  thousand  suns 
J  t  dares  act  openly. 

[He   observes    the   Countess   looking   on   Theki^  icilh 
expressions  of  triumph 

No,  Lady  !     No  ! 
Expect  not,  hope  it  not.     1  am  not  come 
To  stay :  to  bid  farewell,  farewell  for  ever. 
For  this  I  come !     'Tis  over  !  I  must  leave  thee  ! 
Thekla,  I  must — must  leave  thee !     Yet  thy  hatred 
Let  me  not  take  with  me.     I  pray  thee,  grant  me 
One  look  of  sympathy,  only  one  look. 
Say  that  thou  dost  uot  hate  me.     Say  it  to  me  Thekla  ! 

[Grasps  her  hand 

0  God  !  I  cannot  leave  this  spot — T  cannot ! 
Cannot  let  go  this  hand.     O  tell  me,  Thekla ! 
That  thou  dost  suffer  with  me,  art  convinced 
That  I  can  not  act  otherwise. 

[Thekla,  avoiding  his  look,  j^oints  with  her   hand   to 
her  father.     Max.  turns  round  to  the  Duke,  whom  he 
had  not  till  then  perceived. 
Thou  here  ?     It  was  not  thou,  whom  here  I  sought. 

1  trusted  never  more  to  have  beheld  thee 
My  business  is  with  her  alone.     Here  will  I 
lieceive  a  full  acquittal  from  this  heart — 
b'or  any  other  I  am  no  more  concern'd. 

\vai,i,exsteix 
I'hink  st  thou  that,  fool-like,  1  shall  let  thee  go. 
And  act  the  mock-magnanimous  with  thee  ? 
Thy  father  is  become  a  villain  to  me ; 
I  hold  thee  for  his  son,  and  nothing  more  : 
Nor  to  no  purpose  shalt  thou  have  been  given 
Into  my  power.     Think  not,  that  I  will  honour 
That  ancient  love,  which  so  remorselessly 
He  mangled.     They  are  now  past  by,  those  hours 
Of  friendship  and  forgiveness      Hate  and  veugeauoe 


237 

fiC.  XVU1.1  TllK    DKATH   OF   WALLKNStElN 

Succeed — 'tis  now  tlieir  turn — I  too  can  throw 
All  feelings  of  tlie  man  aside— can  prove 
Myself  as  much  a  monster  as  thy  father ! 

MAX.  [calmly). 
Thou  -wilt  proceed  with  me,'  as  thou  hast  power. 
Thou  know'st,  I  neither  brave  nor  fear  thy  rage. 
What  has  detam'd  me  here,  that  too  thou  Imow'st. 

[Taking  Thekla  by  the  hand 
See,  Duke  I  All — all  would  I  have  owed  to  thee, 
Would  have  received  from  thy  paternal  hand 
The  lot  of  blessed  spirits.     This  hast  thou 
Laid  waste  for  ever — that  concerns  not  thee. 
Indifferent  thou  tramplest  in  the  dust 
Their  happiness,  who  most  are  thine.     The  god 
Whom  thou  dost  serve,  is  no  benignant  deity. 
Like  as  the  blind  irreconcileable 
Fierce  element,  incapable  of  compact. 
Thy  heart's  wild  impulse  only  dost  thou  follow*. 

•  I  have  here  ventured  to  omit  a  considerable  number  of  lines.  I  feat 
that  I  should  not  have  done  amiss,  had  I  fciken  this  liberty  more  frequently 
It  is,  however,  incumbent  on  me  to  give  the  original,  with  a  literal  trans 
lation. 

Weh  dener,  die  auf  Dich  vertraun,  an  Dich 
Die  sichre  Hiitte  ihres  Gluckes  lehnen, 
Gelockt  von  deiner  geistlichen  Gestalt. 
Schnell  unverhotit,  bei  niichtlich  stiller  "Weile 
Gahrts  in  dem  tiickschen  Feuerschlunde,  ladet 
Sich  aus  mit  tobender  Gewalt,  und  weg 
Treibt  iiber  alle  Pflanzungen  der  Menschen 
Dei  wilde  Strom  in  grausender  Zerstorung. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Du  schilderst  deines  Yaters  Herz.     "Wie  Du's 
Beschreibst,  so  isl's  in  seinem  Eingeweide, 
In  dieser  sihwarzen  Heuchlers  Bnist  gestaltet. 
0,  mich  hat  HoUenkunst  getUuscht !    Mir  sandte 
Der  Abgrund  den  verflecktesten  der  Geister, 
Den  Liigenkundigsten  herauf,  und  stellt'  ihn 
A  Is  Freund  an  nieiner  Seite.     Wer  vemiag 
Der  Hiille  Macht  zu  widerstehn  !     Ich  zog 
Den  Basilisken  auf  an  meinem  Busen, 
Mit  meinem  Hcrzbhit  nUhrt  ich  ihn,  er  sog 
Sich  schwelgend  voU  an  uieiner  Liebe  Briisten, 
Ich  hatte  nimmer  Arges  gcgen  ihn, 
Weit  offen  liiss  ich  des  Gedankens  There, 


23H  llIK    l-KATH    OB'    WAI.I.KNSTEIN.  [At.T    111. 

WAr.r.KNSTElX. 

Thou  an  describing  thy  own  father's  heart. 

The  adder !     0,  the  charms  of  hell  o'erpowered  me 

Ho  dwelt  within  me,  to  my  inmost  soul 

Still  to  and  fro  he  pass'd,  suspected  never 

On  the  wide  ocean,  in  the  starry  licaven 

Did  mine  eves  seek  the  enemy,  wliom  I 

In  my  heart's  heart  had  folded !     Had  [  been 

To  Ferdinand  what  Octavio  was  to  vie, 

"V/ar  had  1  ne'er  denounced  against  liim      No, 

I  never  could  have  done  it.     The  Emperor  was 

My  austere  master  only,  not  my  friend 

There  was  ali-eady  war  'twixt  him  and  me 

When  he  deliver'd  the  Commander's  Staff 

Into  my  hands ;  for  there's  a  natural 

Unceasing  war  'twixt  cunning  and  suspicion  ; 

Peace  exists  only  betwixt  confidence 

And  faith.     Who  poisons  confidence,  he  murders 

The  future  generations 

MAX. 

I  will  not 
Defend  my  father.     Woe  is  me,  I  cannot! 
Hard  deeds  and  luckless  have  ta'en  place ;  one  crime 
Drags  after  it  the  other  in  close  link. 
But  we  are  innocent :  how  have  we  fallen 

Und  warf  die  Schliissel  weiser  Vorsiclit  weg, 
Am  Sternenhimmel,  etc. 

LITERAL    TRANSLATION. 

Aliis !  for  those  who  place  their  confidence  on  thee,  against  thee  lean  the 
secure  hnt  of  their  fortune,  allured  by  thy  hospitjible  form.  Suddenly,  un- 
expectedly, in  a  moment  still  as  night,  there  is  a  fermenUition  in  the 
treacherous  gulf  of  tire  ;  it  discharges  itsolf  with  raging  force,  and  away 
over  all  the  plantations  of  men  drives  the  wild  stream  in  frightful  devasta- 
tion.— WALLKNSTKiN.  Thou  art  portraying  thy  father's  heart ;  as  thou 
describest,  even  so  is  it  shaped  in  hJB  entrails,  in  this  black  hypocrite's  breast. 
O,  the  art  of  hell  has  deceived  me  !  The  Abyss  sent  up  to  me  the  most 
epotted  of  the  spirits,  the  most  skilful  in  lies,  and  placed  him  as  a  friend  by 
my  side.  Who  may  withstand  the  power  of  hell?  I  took  the  basilisk  to 
aiy  bosom,  with  my  heart's  blood  I  nourished  him  ;  he  sucked  himself  glut- 
full  at  the  breasts  of  my  lore.  I  never  harboured  evil  towards  him  ;  wide 
open  did  I  leave  the  door  of  my  thoughts;  I  threw  away  the  key  of  wise 

foresight.     In  the  starry  heaven,  &c We  find  a  difficulty  in  believing  thU 

tn  have  been  written  by  ScaiLLEB. 


'>39 

SC.   XVIU.]  THK    DEATH    OF   WALLESSTEIN. 

Into  this  circle  of  mishap  and  guilt  ? 

To  whom  have  ^ve  been  faithless  ?     \\  herefore  must 

Tlie  e^•il  deeds  and  guilt  reciprocal 

Of  our  two  fathers  twine  like  serpents  round  us  { 

Why  must  our  fathers 
Unconquerable  hate  rend  us  asunder. 
Who  love  each  other  ? 

VTALLEXSTEIX. 

Max.,  remain  with  me. 

Go  vcu  not  from  me,  Max. !     Hark  I    I  will  tell  thee- 

How  when  at  Prague,  our  winter  quarters,  thou 

Wert  brought  into  my  tent  a  tender  boy, 

Not  vet  accustom'd  to  the  German  \Mnters; 

Thy  hand  was  frozen  to  the  heavy  colours 

Thou  wouldst  not  let  them  go.— 

At  t,hat  time  did  I  take  thee  an  my  arms, 

And  with  my  mantle  did  I  cover  thee  ; 

I  was  thy  niu-se,  no  woman  could  have  been 

A  "kinder  to  thee  ;  I  was  not  ashamed 

To  do  for  thee  all  little  offices. 

However  strange  to  me  ;  I  tended  thee 

Till  life  retum'd;  and  when  thme  eyes  first  opeud, 

1  had  thee  in  my  arms      Since  then  when  have 

Alter'd  my  feelings  towards  thee  ?     Many  thousands 

Have  I  niade  rich,  presented  them  with  lands; 

Rewarded  them  with  dignities  and  honoui-s  ; 

Thee  have  I  loved  :  my  heart,  my  sell,  1  gave 

To  thee '     They  all  were  aliens  :  thou  wert 

Our  child  and  inmate  *.     ^lax. '.  Thou  canst  not  leave  me ; 

It  cannot  be  ;  I  may  not,  will  not  think 

That  Ma.K.  can  leave  me. 

MAX. 

O  my  God ! 

WAUJIN'STEIN. 

I  have 

•  This  is  a  poor  and  inadequate  translation  of  the  affectionate  simplicity 

•f  the  oricinal—  „       „.         _  * 

Sie  alle  waren  Fremdlmge,  Du  warst 
Das  Kind  des  Hauses. 
Indeed   the  whole  speech  is  in  the  best  sty^e  of  Massinger.     0  bi  do 

anta! 


240  THE  DPUTH  OF  WALLEKSTEIN.       [aCT  II! 

Held  and  susiain'd  thee  from  thy  tottering  childhood 

"NVliat  holy  bond  is  there  of  natural  love, 

What  human  tie,  that  does  not  knit  thee  to  mc  ? 

1  love  tliee,  M^lx.  !     What  did  thy  father  for  thee, 

Which  1  too  liave  not  done,  to  the  height  of  duty  ? 

Go  hence,  forsake  me,  serve  thy  Emperor; 

He  will  reward  thee  with  a  pretty  chain 

Of  gold  ;  with  his  rum's  lleece  will  he  reward  theej 

For  that  the  friend,  the  father  of  thy  youth. 

For  that  the  holiest  feeling  of  humanity, 

Was  nothing  worth  to  thee. 

MAX. 

0  God  !  how  can  I 

Do  otherwise?     Am  I  not  forced  to  do  it. 
My  oath — my  duty — my  honour — 

WALLENSTEIN 

How  ?     Thy  duty  ? 
Duty  to  whom  ?     Who  art  thou  ?     Max.  I  bethink  thee 
What  duties  mayst  thuu  have  ?     If  I  am  acting 
A  criminal  part  toward  the  Emperor, 
It  is  my  crime,  not  thine.     Dost  thou  belong 
To  thine  own  self?     Art  thou  thine  own  commander? 
Stand'st  thou,  like  me,  a  fi'eeman  in  the  world. 
That  in  thy  actions  tliou  shouldst  plead  free  agency  ? 
On  me  thou'rt  planted,  I  am  thy  Emperor ; 
To  obey  me,  to  belong  to  me,  this  is 
Thy  honour,  this  a  law  of  nature  to  thee ! 
And  if  the  planet,  on  the  which  thou  livest 
And  hast  thy  dwelling,  from  its  orbit  starts 
It  is  not  in  thy  choice,  whether  or  no 
Thou'lt  follow  it.     Unfelt  it  whirls  thee  onward 
Together  with  his  ring,  and  all  his  moons. 
With  little  guilt  steppst  thou  into  this  contest; 
Thee  will  the  world  not  censure,  it  will  praise  thee, 
For  that  thou  held'st  thy  friend  more  worth  to  thee 
Than  names  and  hifluences  more  nsmoved 
For  justice  is  the  virtue  of  the  ruler. 
Affection  and  fidelity  the  subject's. 
Not  every  one  doth  it  beseem  to  question 
The  far-off  high  Arcturus.     Most  securely 


24:1 

SC.  XIX.J  THE    DEATH  OF   ^YALLE^•ST£1N. 

Wilt  thou  pursue  the  nearest  duty :  let 
The  pilot  fix  his  eye  upon  the  pole-star. 

SCEKE  XIX 
To  these  enter  Neumann 

WALLEKSTEIN 

What  now? 

NEUMANK. 

The  Pappenheimers  are  dismounted. 
And  are  advancing  now  on  foot,  determined 
With  sword  in  hand  to  storm  the  house,  and  free 
The  Count,  their  colonel. 

WALLENSTEIN  (tO  TERZKY). 

Have  the  cannon  planted. 

I  \s\\\  receive  them  with  chain-shot. 

[Exit  Tekzky. 
Prescribe  to  me  with  sword  in  hand !     Go,  Neumann  . 
'Tis  my  command  that  they  retreat  this  moment, 
And  in  their  ranks  in  silence  wait  my  pleasure. 

lNeumann  exit.     Illo  steps  to  the  window 

COUKTESS 

Let  liim  go,  I  entreat  thee,  let  him  go 
ILLO  (at  the  uindow) 
Hell  and  perdition ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What  is  it? 

ILLO. 

They  scale  the  council-house,  the  roof's  uncovered, 
They  level  at  this  house  the  cannon — 

MAX. 

Madmen  1 

ILLO. 

They  are  making  preparations  now  to  fire  on  us. 

DUCHESS  and  codniess. 
Merciful  heaven ! 

MAX.  [to  WALLENSTEIN) 

Let  me  go  to  them ! 

WALLEN8TE1N. 

Not  a  step  ! 


242  THK    DKATH    OF    WALLENSTKIN  'ACT    ill. 

MAX.  {pulntlny  to  xhejoa  and  the  DUCHfise), 
But  their  lile !  Thine  ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What  tidings  biiiigst  thou,  Tcrzkj  ? 


Scene  XX. 
To  these  Terzky  returning 

TERZKY. 

Message  and  greeting  from  our  faithful  regiments. 
Their  ardour  may  no  longer  be  curb'd  in. 
They  eiitreat  permission  to  commence  the  attack ; 
And  if  tliou  wouldst  but  give  the  word  of  onset. 
They  could  now  charge  the  enemy  in  rear. 
Into  the  city  wedge  them,  and  with  ease 
O'erpower  them  in  the  narrow  streets. 

TLLO. 

0  come ! 
Let  not  their  ardour  cool.     The  soldiery 
Of  Butler's  corps  stand  by  us  faithfully; 
We  are  tlie  greater  number.     Let  us  charge  them. 
And  tinisli  here  in  Pilsen  the  revolt. 

W ALLEN STEIN 

What  ?  shall  this  town  become  a  field  of  slaughter, 

And  brother-killing  Discord,  fire-eyed, 

Be  let  loose  through  its  streets  to  roam  and  rage? 

Shall  the  decision  be  deliver'd  over 

To  deaf  remorseless  Ilage,  that  hears  no  leader? 

Here  is  not  room  for  battle,  only  for  butchery. 

Well,  let  it  be  •     I  have  long  thouglit  of  it. 

So  let  it  bui*8t  then ! 

[Turns  to  Max 
Well,  how  is  it  with  thee? 
Wilt  thou  attempt  a  heat  with  me.     Away! 
Thou  art  free  to  go      Oppose  thyself  to  me, 
Front  against  front,  and  lead  them  to  the  battle ; 
Thou'rt  skill'd  iu  war,  thou  hast  learn'd  somewhat  under  iiu 
I  need  not  be  ashamed  of  my  opponent. 
And  never  hadst  thou  fairer  opportunity 
To  p:iy  me  fur  thy  schooling. 


8C.  XX.]  THE    DEATH    OF   WAIXENSTEIN.  243 

COUNTESS 

Is  it  tlieu, 
Cau  it  have  come  to  this?— What!  Cousin,  cousin! 
Have  you  the  heart? 

MAX. 

The  regiments  that  are  trusted  *x>  my  cai-e 

I  have  pledged  my  troth  to  hring  a^vay  from  Pilsen 

True  to  the  Emperor ;  and  this  promise  ^-ill  I 

Make  good,  or  perish.     More  than  this  no  duty 

Requires  of  me.     I  '^ill  not  fight  agamst  thee, 

Unless  compell'd  ;  for  though  an  enemy, 

Thy  head  is  holy  to  me  still. 

[Two  reports  of  cannon.     Illo  and  Terzky  hun-y  to  the 
window 

WALLENSTEIS. 

What's  that? 

TERZKY 

He  falls. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Falls  1    Who? 

ILLO. 

Tiefenbach  s  corp? 
Discharged  the  ordnance. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Upon  whom  ? 

ILLO. 

On  Neumann 

Your  messenger. 

WALLENSTEIN  {starting  up). 

Ha  !  Death  and  hell !  I  will— 

TERi^KY 

Expose  thyself  to  their  blind  frenzy  ? 

DUCHESS  and  countess. 

No! 
For  God's  sake,  no  ! 

ILLO.  .      • 

Not  yet,  my  General! 
O  hold  ham  !  hold  him!  ^-  \  ,    ■■-,   ,, r 

WALLENSTEIN.  ,-,,    J 

],»-iivj  me 

F,2 


244  THE    DEATH    OF   WAIXENSTEIN  [ACT  III. 

MAX. 

Do  it  not ; 

Kot  yet !   This  rash  and  bloody  deed  has  thrown  then: 
Into  a  frenzy-fit— allow  them  time 

WAXLENSTEIN. 

Away!  too  long  already  have  I  loiter'd. 
They  are  emboldened  to  these  outrages, 
Beholding  not  my  face.     They  shall  behold 

My  countenance,  shall  heai-  my  voice 

Are  they  not  viy  troops  ?     Am  I  not  their  General, 
And  their  long-fear 'd  commander !     Let  me  see, 
Whether  indeed  they  do  no  longer  know 
That  countenance,  which  was  their  sun  in  battle  I 
From  the  balcony  (mark !)  I  show  myself 
To  these  rebellious  forces,  and  at  once 
Revolt  is  mounded,  and  the  high-swoln  current 
Shrinks  back  into  the  old  bed  of  obedience. 

[EtU  Wallenstein  ;  Iixo,  Terzky,  and  Butleb 
follow. 

Scene  XXI. 

Countess,  Duchess,  Max.  and  Thekla., 

COUNTESS  (to  the  duchess). 
Let  them  but  see  him — there  is  hope  still,  sister, 

DUCHESS. 

Hope !  I  have  none ! 

MAX    {who  during  the  last  scene  has  been  standing  at  a  dit' 
tance,  in  a  visible  struggle  of  feelings,  advances). 
This  can  I  not  enaure. 
With  most  determined  soul  did  I  come  hither; 
My  purposed  action  seem'd  unblamable 
To  my  own  conscience — and  1  must  stand  here 
Like  one  abhorr'd,  a  hard  inhuman  being : 
Yea,  loaded  with  the  curse  of  all  I  love ! 
Must  see  all  whom  I  love  in  this  sore  anguish, 
Whom  I  with  one  word  can  make  happy — 0 1 
My  heart  revolts  within  me,  and  two  voices 
Make  themselves  audible  within  my  bosom. 
My  soul's  benighted ;  I  no  longer  can 
Distinguish  the  light  track.     O,  well  and  trii]> 


Jv 


245 

so.  XXI.]  THE   DEATH   OF  V.'AIXENSTEIIh 

Didst  thou  say,  father,  I  relied  too  much 

On  my  o^^-Il  heart.     My  mind  moves  to  and  fro — 

T  know  not  -what  to  do. 

COUNTESS. 

What !  you  know  not? 
Does  not  your  own  heart  tell  you?     0  !  then  I 
Will  tell  it  you.     Your  father  is  a  traitor, 
A  frightful  traitor  to  us— he  has  plotted 
Against  our  General's  life,  has  plunged  us  all 
In  misery — and  you're  his  son  !     'Tis  yours 
To  make  the  amends— Make  you  the  son's  fidelity 
Outweigh  the  father's  treason,  that  the  name 
Of  Piccolomini  be  not  a  proverb 
Of  infamy,  a  common  form  of  cursing 
To  the  posterity  of  Wallenstein. 

MAX. 

Where  is  that  voice  of  truth  which  I  dare  follow ! 
It  speaks  no  longer  in  my  heart.     We  all 
But  utter  what  our  passionate  wishes  dictate  : 
O  that  an  angel  would  descend  from  heaven, 
And  scoop  for  me  the  right,  the  uncorrupted, 
With  a  pure  hand  from  the  pure  Fount  of  Light. 

[His  eyes  glance  on  Thekla. 
What  other  angel  seek  I?     To  this  heart, 
To  this  unerring  heart,  will  I  submit  it ; 
Will  ask  thy  love,  which  has  the  power  to  bless 
The  happy  man  alone,  averted  ever 
From  the  disquieted  and  guilty — canst  thou 
Still  love  me,  if  I  stay?     Say  that  thou  canst, 
And  I  am  the  Duke's 

COUNTESS. 

Think,  niece 

MAX. 

Think,  nothing,  Thekla! 
Speak  what  thon  feelest. 

COUNTESS. 

Think  upon  your  father 

MAX 

I  did  not  question  thee,  as  Friedland's  daughter. 
Thee,  the  beloved  and  the  unerring  god 
Within  thy  heart,  I  question.     What's  at  stake  ? 


246  THE    DEATH    OF    WAIXENSTEIN.  [acT 

Not  whether  diadem  of  royalty 

Be  to  be  won  or  not — that  mightst  thou  think  on. 

Thy  fnend,  and  his  soul's  quiet,  are  at  stake : 

The  fortune  of  a  thousand  gallant  men, 

Who  will  all  follow  me ;  shall  1  forswear 

My  oath  and  duty  to  the  Emperor  ? 

Say,  shall  I  send  into  Octavio  s  camp 

The  parricidal  ball  ?     For  when  the  ball 

Has  left  its  cannon,  and  is  on  its  flight, 

It  is  no  longer  a  dead  instrument ! 

It  lives,  a  ephit  passes  into  it. 

The  avenging  furies  seize  possession  of  it. 

And  with  sure  malice  guide  it  the  worst  way. 

THEKLA. 

0!  Max. 

MAX.  {inter rujiting  her). 
Nay,  not  precipitately  either,  Thekla. 
I  understand  thee.     To  thy  noble  heart 
The  hardest  duty  might  appear  the  highest. 
The  human,  not  the  great  part,  would  I  act 
Even  from  my  childhood  to  this  present  hour, 
Tliink  what  the  Duke  has  done  for  me,  how  loved  me 
And  think,  too,  how  my  father  has  repaid  him. 
O  likewise  the  free  lovely  impulses 
Of  hospitality,  the  pious  friend's 
Faithful  attachment,  these,  too,  arc  a  holy 
Keligion  to  the  heart ;  and  heavily 
The  shudderings  of  nature  do  avenge 
Themselves  on  the  barbarian  that  insults  them 
Lay  all  upon  the  balance,  all — then  speak, 
And  let  thy  heart  decide  it. 

THEKLA 

O,  thy  own 
Hath  long  ago  decided.     Follow  thou 
Thy  heart's  first  feeling 

COUNTESS. 

Oh  !  ill-fated  woman  I 

THEKI.A. 

Is  it  possible,  that  that  can  be  the  right. 
The  which  thy  tender  heart  did  not  at  first 
Detect  and  seize  with  instant  impulse  ?    Go, 


SC.  XXII.J  THE    DEATH    OF    WALI.KSSTKIN  247 

Fulfil  thv  daty  !     T  sliould  ever  love  thee 

Whateer  thou  hadst  chosen,  thou  wouldst  still  have  acted 

Nobly  and  worthy  of  thee— but  repentance 

Shall  ne'er  disturb  thy  soul's  fair  peace. 

MAX. 

Then! 
Must  leave  thee,  must  part  from  thee  ! 

THEKIA. 

Being  faithful 

To  thine  o%vn  self,  thou  art  faithful,  too,  to  me  • 

If  our  fates  part,  our  hearts  remain  united. 

A  bloody  hatred  will  divide  for  ever 

The  houses  Piccolomini  and  Friedland ; 

But  we  belong  not  to  our  houses.     Go ! 

Quick  !  quick  !  and  separate  thy  righteous  cause 

From  our  unholy  and  unblessed  one  ! 

The  curse  of  Heaven  lies  upon  our  head : 

"Fis  dedicate  to  ruin.     Even  me 

My  father's  guilt  drags  with  it  to  perdition. 

Mouni  not  for  me  : 

My  destinv  will  quickly  be  decided. 

[Max.  clasps  her  in  his  arms  in  extreme  emotion.  Tliere 
is  heard  from  behind  the  Scene  a  loud,  u-ild,  long  cnn 
United  cry,  Vivat  Ferdinandus  !  accompanied  by  irar- 
Hke  instruments.  Max.  and  Thekla  retnain  ivithoui 
motion  in  each  other's  embraces. 

Scene  XXII. 
To  the  above  enter  Terzkt. 
COUNTESS  (meeting  him). 
What  meant  that  cry ?     What  was  it? 

TEKZKT. 

All  is  lost ! 

COUNTESS. 

What!  they  regarded  not  his  countenance? 

TERZKT. 

'Twas  all  in  vain. 

DUCHESS. 

Tliev  shouted  Vivat ! 


2i8  THE    DEATH   OF   WAIXEN8TE1N.  [aCT  III. 

TEKZKT. 

To  the  Emperor. 

COUNTESS. 

The  traitors ! 

TERZKY. 

Nay  !  he  was  not  permitted 
Even  to  address  them.     Soon  as  he  began, 
With  deafening  noise  of  warlike  instruments 
They  drown'd  his  words.     But  here  he  comes. 

Scene  XXIII. 

To  these  enter  Wallenstein,  accompanied  by  Iixo  and 

Butler. 

WALLENSTEIN  {as  he  enters). 

Terzky ! 

TERZKY. 

My  General ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Let  our  regiments  hold  themselves 
In  readiness  to  march  ;  for  we  shall  lave 
Pilsen  ere  evening.  [Exit  Terzm 

Butler ! 

BUTLER 

Yes,  my  General 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  Governor  of  Egra  is  your  friend 
And  countryman.     AVrite  to  him  instantly 
By  a  post  courier.     He  must  be  advised. 
That  we  are  with  him  early  on  the  morrow. 
You  follow  us  yourself,  your  regiment  with  you. 

BUTLER. 

It  shall  be  done,  my  General ! 
WALLENSTEIN  [slcps  le/wecn  Max.  and  Tiieki.a,  tcho  \ave  re. 
mained  during  this  time  in  each  others  arms). 

Part ! 

MAX. 

0  Gcd ! 
[Cuirassiers  enter  with  drawn  swords,  and  assemble    in  the 
hack-ground.     At  the  same  time  there  are  heard  from  below 
some  sjiirited  passafjes  out  of  the  Pappenheim  March,  which. 
seem  to  addrest  !Max. 


SC.  XXin.J  THE    DEATH   OF   WALILENSTETK.  249 

WALLENSTETN  {to  the  Cuirassiers). 
Here  he  is,  he  is  at  liberty  :  I  keep  him 

^\mfims  away,  and  stands  so  that  Max.  cannot  pass  by 
him  nor  approach  the  Princess. 

MAX. 

Thou  know'st  that  I  have  not  yet  learnt  to  live 

Without  thee  !  I  go  forth  into  a  desert, 

Leaving  my  all  behind  me.     0  do  not  tura 

Thine  eyes  away  from  me !     0  once  more  show  me 

Thv  ever  dear  and  honour 'd  countenance.      _  „  ,     , 

[Max    attempts  to   take    his    hand,   but  is  repelled:  he 
turns  to  the  Countess. 
Ts  there  no  eye  that  has  a  look  of  pity  for  me  ? 

[The  CoDNTESS  turns  away  from  him ;  he  turns  to  the 
Duchess. 

My  mother  ! 

duchess. 
Go  where  duty  calls  you      Haply 
The  time  may  come,  when  you  may  prove  to  us 
A  true  friend,  a  good  angel  at  the  throne 
Of  the  Emperor 

MAX. 

You  give  me  hope  ;  you  would  not 
Suffer  me  wholly  to  despair.     No  !  no  ! 
Mine  is  a  certain  miseiy.     Thanks  to  Heaven ! 
That  offers  me  a  means  of  endmg  it. 

[The  military  music  begins  again.     The  stage  fills  mote 

and  more  with  armed  men.     Max.  sees   Buti.kb  afid 

addresses  him. 
And  you  here.  Colonel  Butler— and  will  you 
Not  follow  me  ?     Well,  then  !  remain  more  faithful 
To  your  new  loid,  than  you  have  proved  yourselt 
To  the  Emperor.     Come,  Butler  !  promise  me. 
Give  me  your  hand  upon  it,  that  you  11  be 
The  guardian  of  his  life,  its  shield,  its  watchman. 
He  is  attainted,  and  his  princely  head 
Fair  booty  for  each  slave  that  trades  m  murder. 
Now  he  doth  need  the  faithful  eye  of  fnf.ndship, 
And  those  whom  here  I  see —  j  n         „ 

[Casting  suspicious  looks  on  Illo  and  liUTi.EB. 


250  TlIK    DEATH    OF   AVALLENSTEIX.  r^Qf|,  jy. 

TLLO. 

Go — seek  fur  traitors 
In  Gallas',  in  your  father's  quarters.     Here 
Is  only  one.     Away  !  away  !  and  free  us 
From  his  detested  sight !     Away  I 

[Max.  attempts  once  more  to  approach  Thekla.  Wallex- 
STEiN  prevents  him.  Max.  stands  irresolute,  and  in 
apparent  ancfuish.  In  the  mean  time  the  sta^e  Jills  more 
and  more ;  and  the  Jiorns  sound  from  below  louder 
and  louder,  and  each  time  after  a  shorter  interval. 

MAX. 

Blow,  blow !     0  were  it  but  the  Swedish  Trumpets, 
And  all  the  naked  swords,  which  I  see  here, 
Were  plunged  into  my  breast !     What  purpose  you  ? 
You  come  to  tear  me  from  this  place !     Beware, 
Ye  drive  me  not  to  despei'ation.     Do  it  not ! 
Y'e  may  repent  it ! 

[The  stage  is  entirely  filled  with  armed  men 
Yet  more  !  weight  upon  weight  to  drag  me  down ! 
Think  what  ye're  doing.     It  is  not  well  duiio 
To  choose  a  man  despairing  for  your  leader  ; 
You  tear  me  from  my  happiness.     Well,  then, 
I  dedicate  your  souls  to  vengeance.     Mark  ! 
For  your  own  ruin  you  have  chosen  me  : 
Who  goes  with  me,  must  be  prepared  to  perish. 

[He  turns  to  the  background,  their  ensues  a  sudden  and 
violent  movement  among  the  Cnirasftiers ;  they  sur 
round  him,  and  carry  him  off  in  wild  tmnult.  WAXr 
LENSTEIN  remains  immoveable.  Thekla  sinks  into  her 
mothers  arms.  The  curtain  falls.  The  music  becomes 
loud  and  overpowering,  and  passes  into  a  complete  war 
march — the  orchestra  joins  it — and  continues  during 
the  interval  between  the  second  and  third  Act. 


ACT  IV. 

SCEKE    I. 

The  Burgomaster's  House  at  Egra. 
BUTLER  (just  arrived). 
Here  then  he  is,  by  his  destiny  conducted. 
Here,  Friedland  !  and  no  farther  !     From  Bohemia 


Sc.  11.1  THE   DEATH   OF   WALLENSTEIN.  251 

Thv  meteor  rose,  traversed  the  sky  awhile. 
And  here  upon  the  borders  of  Bohemia 
Must  sink. 

Thou  hast  foresworn  the  ancient  colours, 
Blind  man  !  yet  trustest  to  thy  ancient  fortunes. 
Profaner  of  tlie  altar  and  the  hearth, 
Against  thy  Emperor  and  fellow  citizens 
'I'hou  mean'st  to  wage  the  war.     Friedland,  hewaro— 
The  evil  spirit  of  revenge  impels  thee — 
Beware  thou,  that  revenge  destroy  thee  not ! 

Scene  II. 
Butler  and  Gordon. 

GORDON. 

Is  it  you? 
How  my  heart  sinks  !     The  Duke  a  fugitive  traitor  ! 
His  princely  head  attainted  !     O  my  God  ! 
[  Tell  me,  General,  I  implore  thee,  tell  me 
In  full,  of  all  these  sad  events  at  Pilseu.] 

BUTLER 

You  have  received  the  letter  which  I  sent  you 
By  a  post-courier? 

GORDON. 

Yes  :  and  in  obedience  to  it 
Open'd  the  stronghold  to  him  without  scruple, 
For  an  impenal  letter  orders  me 
To  follow  your  commands  imphcitly. 
But  yet  forgive  me  !  when  even  now  I  saw 
The  Duke  himself,  my  scruples  recommenced. 
For  truly,  not  like  an  attainted  man, 
Into  this  town  did  Friedland  make  his  entrance ; 
His  wonted  majesty  beam'd  from  his  brow. 
And  calm,  as  in  the  days  when  all  was  right, 
Did  he  receive  from  me  tlie  accounts  of  othce. 
"Tis  said,  that  fallen  pride  leanis  condescension  • 
But  sparing  and  with  dignity  the  Duke 
Weigh'd  eveiy  syllable  of  approbation, 
As  masters  praise  a  servant  who  has  done 
His  duty  and  no  more. 


252  THE   DEATH   OF   WALLENSTEIN.  [ACT  IV. 

BUTLER. 

'Tis  all  precisely 
As  I  related  in  my  letter.     Friedlaud 
Has  sold  the  army  to  the  enemy, 
And  pledged  himself  to  give  up  Prague  and  Egiu 
On  this  report  the  regiments  all  forsook  him, 
The  five  excepted  that  belong  to  Terzky, 
And  which  have  followed  him,  as  thou  hast  seen 
The  sentence  of  attainder  is  pass'd  on  him, 
And  every  loyal  subject  is  required 
To  give  him  in  to  justice,  dead  or  living. 

GORDON. 

A  traitor  to  the  Emperor.     Such  a  noble  ! 

Of  such  high  talents  !     What  is  human  greatness  ! 

I  often  said,  this  can't  end  happily. 

His  might,  his  greatness,  and  this  obscure  power 

Are  but  a  cover'd  pit-fall.     The  human  being 

May  not  be  trusted  to  self-government. 

The  clear  and  written  law,  the  deep  trod  foot-marks 

Of  ancient  custom,  are  all  necessary 

To  keep  him  in  the  road  of  faith  and  duty. 

The  authority  entrusted  to  this  man 

Was  unexampled  and  unnatural. 

It  placed  him  on  a  level  with  his  Emperor, 

Till  the  proud  soul  unlearn'd  submission.     Wo  is  me; 

I  moui-n  for  him  !  for  where  he  fell,  I  deem 

Might  none  stand  firm.     Alas  !  dear  General, 

We  in  our  lucky  mediocrity 

Have  ne'er  experienced,  cannot  calculate. 

What  dangerous  wishes  such  a  height  may  breed 

In  the  heart  of  such  a  man. 

BUTLER. 

Spare  your  laments 
Till  he  need  sympathy ;  for  at  this  present 
He  is  still  mighty,  and  still  formidable. 
The  Swedes  advance  to  Egra  by  forced  marches, 
And  quickly  will  the  junction  be  accomplish 'd. 
This  must  not  be  !     The  Duke  must  never  leave 
This  stronghold  on  free  footing ;  for  I  have 
Pledged  life  and  honour  here  to  hold  him  prisoner, 
And  your  assistance  'tis  on  whlc!'  I  calculate. 


8C.  n.1         THE  DEATH  OF  WALLEXSTEIN  253 

GORDON. 

O  that  I  had  not  lived  to  see  this  day ! 
From  his  hand  I  received  this  digmty. 
He  did  himself  entmst  this  stronghold  to  me, 
Which  I  am  now  required  to  make  his  dungeon. 
We  subalterns  have  no  will  of  our  own: 
The  free,  the  mighty  man  alone  may  listen 
To  the  fair  impulse  of  his  human  nature. 
Ah '  we  are  hut  the  poor  tools  of  the  law. 
Obedience  the  sole  virtue  we  dare  aim  at ! 

BUTLER. 

Nay!  let  it  not  afflict  you,  that  your  power 
Is  circumscribed.     Much  liberty,  much  error ! 
The  narrow  path  of  duty  is  securest. 

GORDON. 

And  all  then  have  deserted  him  yoii  say? 

He  has  built  up  the  hick  of  many  thousands ; 

For  kingly  was  his  spirit:  his  full  hand 

Was  ever  open !     Many  a  one  from  dust 

was  e\ei  opeu  j         ^^.^^  ^  ^^^  ^^^^^^^  ^^  Butleb. 

Hath  he  selected,  from  the  very  dust 

Hath  raised  him  into  dignity  and  honour 

And  yet  no  friend,  not  one  friend  hath  he  purchased. 

Whose  heait  beats  true  to  him  m  the  evil  hour. 

BUTLER. 

Here's  one,  I  see. 

GORDON. 

I  have  enjoy'd  from  hun 
No  grace  or  favour.     I  could  almost  doubt, 
If  ever  in  his  greatness  he  once  thought  on 
An  old  friend  of  his  youth.     For  still  my  office 
Kept  me  at  distance  from  him ;  and  when  farst 
He  to  this  citadel  appointed  me. 
He  was  sincere  and  serious  in  his  duty 
I  do  not  then  abuse  his  confidence. 
If  I  preserve  my  fealty  in  that 
Which  to  my  fealty  was  first  delivered. 

BUTLER. 

Say,  then,  will  you  fulfil  th'  attainder  on  him, 
r  And  lend  your  aid  to  take  him  m  arrest  .''J 
^GORDON  {pauses,  reflectlno-then  as  in  deep  dejection). 
If  it  he  SO— if  all  be  as  you  say— 


254  THK  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN.        [alT  lY 

If  he've  betray 'd  the  Emperor,  his  master. 
Have  sohl  the  troops,  have  purposed  to  deliver 
The  strongholds  of  the  country  to  the  enemy — 
Yea,  truly ! — thea-e  is  no  redemption  for  him  ! 
Yet  it  is  hard,  that  me  the  lot  should  destine 
To  be  the  instrument  of  his  perdition  ; 
For  we  were  pages  at  the  court  of  Bergan 
At  the  same  period ;  but  I  was  the  senior 

BUTLER. 

1  have  heard  so 

GORDON. 

'Tis  full  thirty  years  since  then, 
A  youth  who  scarce  had  seen  his  twentieth  year 
Was  Wallenstein,  when  he  and  I  were  friends : 
Yet  even  then  he  had  a  daring  soul : 
His  frame  of  mind  was  serious  and  severe 
Beyond  his  years  :  his  dreams  were  of  great  objectfi. 
He  walk'd  amidst  us  of  a  silent  spirit, 
Communing  with  himself;  yet  I  have  known  him 
'J'ransported  on  a  sudden  into  utterance 
Of  strange  conceptions;  kindling  into  splendour, 
J  lis  soul  reveal'd  itself,  and  he  spake  so 
Tliat  we  look'd  round  perplex'd  upon  each  other. 
Not  knowing  whether  it  were  craziness. 
Or  whether  it  were  a  god  that  spoke  in  him. 

I5UTLER. 

But  was  it  wheie  he  fell  two  story  high 

From  a  window-ledge,  on  which  he  had  fallen  asleep 

And  rose  up  free  from  injury?     From  this  day 

(It  is  reported)  he  betrayed  clear  marks 

Of  a  distemper'd  fancy. 

GORDON.  '"^ 

He  became 
Doubtless  more  self-enwrapt  and  melancholy ; 
He  made  himself  a  Catholic*.     Marvellously 
His  marvellous  preservation  had  transform'd  him. 
'J'henccforth  he  held  himself  for  an  exempted 
And  privileged  being,  and.  as  if  he  were 
Incapable  of  dizziness  or  fall, 

ll  aiipojirs  tliat  the   nccuuiit  of  liis  conversiuu  being  caused  by  such  • 
fall,  and  other  Btories  of  iiis  juvenile  cl.aiacter,  are  not  well  authentiwited. 


SC.  III.] 


THE    DEATH    OF    WAL1,E!S STEIN.  255 


He  ran  along  the  unsteady  rope  of  life 

But  now  our  destinies  drove  us  asunder, 

He  pacpd  with  rapid  step  the  way  of  greatness, 

Was  Count,  and  Prince,  Duke-regent,  and  Dictator 

And  now  is  all,  all  this  too  little  for  him ; 

He  stretches  forth  his  hands  for  a  king's  crown, 

And  plunges  in  unfathomable  niir.. 

BUTLER, 

No  more,  he  comes. 

Scene  III 
To  these  enter  Wallenstein,  in  conversation  with  the  BoROO- 
MASTER  of  Egra. 
wallenstein 
You  were  at  one  time  a  free  town.     I  see. 
Ye  bear  the  half  eagle  in  your  city  arms. 
Why  the  half  eagle  only  ? 

burgomaster. 

We  were  free. 
But  for  these  last  two  hundred  years  has  Egra 
Remain'd  in  pledge  to  the  Bohemian  crown; 
Therefore  we  bear  the  half  eagle,  the  other  half 
Being  cancell'd  till  the  empire  ransom  us, 
If  ever  that  should  be. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Y'e  mei'it  freedom. 
Only  be  firm  and  dauntless.     Lend  your  ears 
To  no  designing  whispering  court-minions. 
What  may  your  imposts  be  ? 

BURGOMASTER. 

So  heavy  that 
We  totter  under  them.     The  garrison 
Lives  at  our  costs. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I  will  relieve  you      Tell  me. 
There  are  some  Protestants  among  you  still? 

[The  Burgomaster  hesitates 
Yes,  yes ;  I  know  it,     INIany  lie  conceal 'd 
Within  these  walls — Confess  now— you  yourself — 

[Fixes  his  eije  un  him.     Thj  Bukgomastek  nhinned 


256 


THE   DEATH   OF   WALLENSTEIN.  L^OT   17 


Be  not  alarm'd.     I  hate  the  Jesuits. 
Could  my  will  have  determined  it,  they  had 
Been  long  ago  expell'd  the  empire.     Trust  me — 
Mass-book  or  bible,  'tis  all  one  to  me. 
Of  that  the  world  has  had  sufficient  proof. 
I  built  a  church  for  the  Reform'd  in  Glogau  ^ 
At  my  own  instance.     Harkye,  Burgomaster! 
What  is  your  name  ? 

BUEGOMASTEE. 

Pachhalbel,  may  it  please  you. 

WALLENSTEIN 

Harkye  !- 


But  let  it  go  no  further,  what  I  now 

Disclose  to  you  in  confidence.  ^ 

[Laying  his  hand  on  the  Bukgomastees  shoulder 
with  a  certain  solemnity. 

The  times 
Draw  near  to  their  fulfilment,  Burgomaster! 
The  high  will  fall,  the  low  will  be  exalted. 
Harkye!    But  keep  it  to  yourself !    The  end 
Approaches  of  the  Spanish  double  monarchy— 
A  new  arrangement  is  at  hand.     You  saw 
The  three  moons  that  appear 'd  at  once  in  the  Heaven 

BUEGOMASTER. 

With  wonder  and  affright ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Whereof  did  two 
Strangely  transform  themselves  to  bloody  daggers, 
And  only  one,  the  middle  moon,  remained 
Steady  and  clear 

BURGOMASTER. 

We  applied  it  to  the  Turks. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  Turks !   That  all?— I  tell  you,  that  two  empires 
Will  set  in  blood,  in  the  East  and  hi  the  West, 
And  Luth'ranism  alone  remain.  ,  t>         „ 

\ Observing  Gobdon  and  Butleb 
I'  faith, 
"Twas  a  smart  cannonading  that  we  heard 
This  evening,  as  we  jouniey'd  hitherward ; 
Twas  on  our  left  hand      Did  you  hear  it  here  i 


3C.  IV.]  THK   DEATH   OF  WALLENSTEIN.  257 

GORDON. 

Distinctly.     The  wind  brought  it  from  the  south. 

BUTLER. 

It  seem'd  to  come  from  Weiden  or  from  Neustadt. 

WALLEX STEIN. 

'Tis  likelj'.     That's  the  route  the  Swedes  are  taking. 
IIow  strong  is  the  garrison? 

GORDON. 

Not  quite  two  hundred 
Competent  men,  the  rest  are  invalids 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Good  !   And  how  many  in  the  vale  of  Jochim? 

GORDON. 

Two  hundred  ai-quebusiers  have  I  sent  thither 
To  fortify  the  posts  against  the  Swedes. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Good  !  I  commend  your  foresight.     At  the  works  too 
You  have  done  somewhat  ? 

GORDON. 

Two  additional  batteries 
I  caused  to  be  run  up.     They  were  needless 
The  Rhinegrave  presses  hai'd  upon  us,  General ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

You  have  been  watchful  in  your  Emperor's  seiwice. 
I  am  content  with  you,  Lieutenant-Colonel 


Release  the  outposts  in  the  vale  of  Jochim 
With  all  the  stations  in  the  enemy's  route. 

Governor,  in  your  faithful  hands  I  leave 
"Mv  wife,  my  daughter,  and  my  sister.     I 
Sliall  make'no  stay  here,  and  wait  but  the  arrival 
Of  letters  to  take 'leave  of  you,  together 
With  all  the  regiments. 

Scene  IV 
To  these  enter  Count  Terzkt. 

TERZKY 

Joy,  General ;  joy  i   I  bring  you  welcome  tidings 


[To  BUTLEB 

\To  Gouijus- 


58  THE    DF.ATn    OF   WALLENSTSIN.  ACT  IV,J 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And  what  may  ihey  be  ? 

TERZKT. 

There  has  been  an  engagement 
At  Neustadt;  the  Swedes  gain'd  tlie  victory. 

WALLENSTEIK. 

From  whence  did  you  receive  the  intelligence? 

TEKZKY. 

A  countrvman  from  Tirschenreut  convey 'd  it. 
Soon  after  sunrise  did  the  fight  begin! 
A  troop  of  the  Imperialists  from  Tachau 
Had  forced  their  way  into  the  Sw-edish  camp; 
The  cannonade  continued  full  two  hours ; 
There  were  left  dead  upon  the  field  a  thousand 
juiperialists,  together  with  their  Colonel; 
Further  than  this  he  did  not  know. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

How  camo 
Imperial  troops  at  Xeustadt?     Altringer, 
But  yesterday,  stood  sixty  miles  from  there. 
Count  Gallas'  force  collects  at  Frauenberg, 
And  have  not  the  full  complement.     Is  it  possible 
That  Suys  perchance  had  ventured  so  far  onward? 
It  cannot  be 

TERZKV. 

We  shall  soon  know  the  whole, 
For  here  comes  Illo,  full  of  haste,  and  joyoab. 

Scene  V. 

<■■ 
To  these  enter  Illo.  j 

ILLO    (to  WALLENSTEIN). 

A  courier,  Duke  1  he  wishes  to  speak  with  thoe. 

tebzky  [eagerly). 
Does  he  bring  confirmation  of  the  victoiy? 

WALLENSTEIN  (at  the  savie  tim^). 
Wliat  does  he  bring?     Whence  comes  he'? 

ILLO. 

From  the  Rliincgrave 
And  what  he  brings  I  can  aniioimce  to  you 


8C.  VI.]  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  2o9 

Beforehand.     Seven  leagues  distant  are  the  Swedes ; 

At  Neustadt  did  ^lax.  Piccolommi 

Throw  himself  on  them  with  the  cavalry ; 

A  murderous  fight  took  ph.ce!  oerpower d  by  numbers 

The  Pappenheimers  all,  ^vith  Max.  then-  leader 

^  [Waixenstein  shudders  and  turns  jmie 

Were  left  dead  on  the  field. 

WALrENSTEiN  [afti'v  a  pause  in  a  low  voice). 
Where  is  the  messenger  ?    Conduct  me  to  him. 

[Wallenstein  is  going,  ichen  Lady  Neubrunk  rushes 
into  the  room.  Some  servants  follow  her  and  run 
across  the  stage. 

NEUBRUNN 

Help!  Help!  .     . 

ILLO  and  TERZKY  {at  the  same  time). 
What  now  ? 

KEUBRUNX. 

The  Princess! 

WALLENSTEIN  a7ld  TERZKY. 

Does  she  know  it? 
NEUBRUNN  {at  the  same  time  ivith  them). 

She  is  dying  !  ^^  ,  ™ 

^Hurries  off  the  s^r/^  tt7te;i  Wallenstein  and  Terzev 

follow  her. 

Scene  VI. 
Butler  and  Gordon. 

GORDON. 

What's  this? 

BUTLER. 

She  has  lost  the  man  she  loved — 
YcunfT  Piccolomini  \Yho  fell  in  the  battle. 

GORDON 

Unfortunate  Lady ! 

BUTLER. 

You  have  heard  what  lUc 
Pveporteth,  that  the  Swedes  are  conquerors. 
And  marching  hitherward 

GORDON. 

Too  -well  I  heard  it. 

s2 


260  THE    DEATH   OF   WALLENSTEIN  [ACT  IV. 

BUTLER. 

They  are  twelve  regiments  strong,  and  there  are  fiv6 
Close  by  us  to  protect  the  Duke.     We  have 
Only  my  single  regiment;  and  the  garrison 
Is  not  two  hundred  strong. 

GORDON. 

'Tis  even  so. 

BUTLER. 

It  is  not  possible  with  such  small  force 
To  hold  in  custody  a  man  like  him. 

GORDON 

I  grant  it, 

BUTLER. 

Soon  the  numbers  would  disarm  us, 
And  liberate  him. 

GORDON. 

It  were  to  be  fear'd 
BUTLER  [nftcr  a  pause) 
Know,  I  am  warranty  for  the  event; 
With  my  head  have  1  pledged  myself  for  his. 
Must  make  my  word  good,  cost  it  what  it  will. 
And  if  alive  we  cannot  hold  him  prisoner, 
Why — death  makes  all  things  certain  ! 

GORDON. 

Butler!    What? 
Do  I  understand  you  ?    Gracious  God  !    You  could — 

BUTLER. 

He  must  not  live. 

GORDON. 

And  you  can  do  the  deed ! 

BUTLER. 

Either  you  or  I.     This  morning  was  his  last 

GORDON. 

You  would  assassinate  him. 

BUTLER. 

'Tis  my  purpose. 

GORDON. 

Who  leans  with  his  whole  confidence  upon  you  I 

nUTT.KU, 

Such  is  his  evil  destiny  ' 


SC.  n.l         THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN  261 

GORDON. 

Your  General  1 
The  sacred  person  of  your  General ' 

BUTLER. 

Mv  General  he  has  been. 

GORDON. 

That  'tis  only 
An  "has  been''  ^vashcs  out  no  villany. 
Anil  without  judgment  pass'd? 

BUTLER. 

The  execution 
Is  here  instead  of  judgment. 

GORDON. 

This  were  murder. 
Not  justice.     The  most  guilty  should  be  heard 

BUTLER. 

His  guilt  is  clear,  the  Emperor  has  pass'd  judgment, 
And  we  but  execute  his  will. 

GORDON. 

We  should  not 
Hurry  to  realize  a  bloody  sentence. 
A  word  may  be  recall'd,  a  life  can  never  be. 

BUTLER. 

Despatch  in  service  pleases  sovereigns. 

GORDON. 

No  honest  man's  ambitious  to  press  forward 
To  the  hangman's  service. 

BUTLER. 

And  no  brave  man  loses 
His  colour  at  a  daring  enterprise. 

GORDON. 

A  brave  man  hazards  life,  but  not  his  conscience. 

BUTLER. 

What  then  ?    Shall  he  go  forth  anew  to  kindle 
The  unextinguishable  flame  of  war? 

GORDON 

Seize  him.  and  hold  Mm  prisoner — do  not  kill  him 

BUTLER. 

Had  not  the  Emperors  army  been  defeated, 
I  might  have  done  so. — But  'tis  now  past  by. 

GORDON. 

0,  wherefore  open'd  I  the  stronghold  to  him? 


262  THE  DEATH    OF    WAT.LENSTEIK.  [AOT   IV. 

BUTLER 

His  destiny  and  not  the  place  destroys  him. 

GOKDOX. 

Upon  these  ramparts,  as  beseem'd  a  soldier, 
I  had  fallen,  defending  the  Emperor's  citadel  I 

BUTLER. 

Yes !  and  a  thousand  gallant  men  have  perish'd 

GORDON. 

Doing  their  dutj' — that  adoras  the  man ! 

But  murder's  a  black  deed,  and  nature  curses  i'c. 

BUTLER  (brings  out  a  jyaper). 
Here  is  the  manifesto  which  commands  us 
To  gain  possession  of  his  person.  See — 
It  is  addressed  to  you  as  well  as  me. 
Are  you  content  to  take  the  consequences. 
If  through  our  fault  he  escape  to  the  enemy? 

GOBDOX. 

I? — Gracious  God! 

BUTLER. 

Take  it  on  yourself. 
Come  of  it  what  may,  on  you  I  lay  it. 

GOBDON. 

0  God  in  heaven ! 

BUTLER. 

Can  you  advise  aught  else 
Wherewith  to  execute  the  Emperor's  purpose? 
Say  if  you  can.     For  I  desire  his  fall. 
Not  his  destruction 

GORDON. 

Merciful  heaven  !  what  must  bo 

1  see  as  clear  as  you.     Yet  still  the  heart 
Within  my  bosom  beats  with  other  feelings  I 

BUTLER. 

Mine  is  of  harder  stuff!    Necessity 

In  her  rough  school  hath  steel'd  me.     And  this  Illo, 

And  Terzky  like%vise,  they  must  not  survive  him 

GORDON. 

I  feel  no  pang  for  these.     Their  own  bad  hearts 
Impell'd  them,  not  the  influence  of  the  stars. 
'Twas  they  who  strew'd  the  seeds  of  evil  passions 
In  his  calm  breast,  and  with  officious  villany 


SCVII.]  THE    DEATH    OV   WALI.ENSTEIN.  263 

Water  d  ard  nursed  the  pois'nous  plants.     May  they 
Receive  their  earnests  to  the  uttermost  mite . 

BUTLER. 

^nd  their  death  shall  precede  his ! 

We  meant  to  have  taken  them  alive  this  evening 

Amid  the  merry-making  of  a  feast. 

And  keep  them  prisoners  m  the  citadel. 

But  this  makes  shorter  ^vork.     I  go  this  instant 

To  give  the  necessary  orders. 

Scene  Vll. 
To  these  enter  Illo  aiid  Terzky. 

TEKZKY 

Our  luck  is  on  the  turn.     To-morrow  come  _ 
The  Swedes-twelve  thousand  gallant  warriors   Illo  . 
Then  straightwise  for  Vienna.     Cheerily  friend . 
What !  meet  such  news  with  such  a  moody  lace  . 

IIJ.O 

It  lies  \\ith  us  at  present  to  prescribe 

Laws,  and  take  vengeance  on  those  worthless  traitois. 

Those  skulldng  cowai'ds  that  deserted  us ; 

One  has  already  done  his  bitter  penance, 

The  Piccolomini :  be  his  the  fate 

Of  all  who  wish  us  evil !     This  ilies  sure 

To  the  old  mans  heart;  he  has  lus  whole  life  long 

Fretted  and  toil'd  to  raise  his  ancient  house 

From  a  Count's  title  to  the  name  of  prince; 

And  now  must  seek  a  grave  for  his  only  son. 

BUTI.r.R. 

'Twas  pitv,  though  !     A  youth  of  such  heroic 
And  gentle  temperament!    The  Duke  hmiself 
T^ was  easily  seen,  how  near  it  went  to  his  heart 

ILLO. 

Hark  ye,  old  friend !    That  is  the  very  point 
That  never  pleased  nie  in  our  General- 
He  ever  gave  the  preference  to  the  Italians. 
Yea.  at  this  verv  moment,  by  my  soul ! 
He'd  f-ladly  see\is  all  dead  ten  times  over, 
Coukfhe  thereby  recall  his  friend  to  life. 

TERZKY. 

Hush  hush!    Let  the  dead  rest!    This  evening's  businese 
l8.  who  can  fairly  drink  the  other  down— 


264  THE    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIK  [ACT  IV. 

Your  regiment,  Illo !  gives  the  entertainment 
Come !  we  will  keep  a  merry  carnival — 
Tlie  night  for  once  be  day,  and  mid  full  glasses 
Will  we  expect  the  Swedish  avant-garde. 

ILLO. 

Yes,  jet  us  be  of  good  cheer  for  to-day, 
For  there's  hot  work  before  us,  friends !    This  sworu 
Shall  have  no  rest,  till  it  be  bathed  to  the  hilt 
In  Austrian  blood 

GORDON. 

Shame,  shame !  what  talk  is  this 
My  Lord  Field-Marshal?    Wherefore  foam  you  so 
Against  your  Emperor  ? 

BUTLER. 

Hope  not  too  much 
From  this  first  victory      Bethink  you,  sirs ! 
How  rapidly  the  wheel  of  Fortune  turns ; 
The  Emperor  still  is  formidably  strong. 

ILLO 

The  Emperor  has  soldiers,  no  commander, 

For  this  King  Ferdinand  of  Hungaiy 

Js  but  a  tyro.     Gallas?    He's  no  luck. 

And  was  of  old  the  ruiner  of  armies. 

And  then  this  viper,  this  Octavio, 

Is  excellent  at  stabbing  in  the  back. 

But  ne'er  meets  Friedland  in  the  open  field. 

TERZKY. 

Trust  me,  my  friends,  it  cannot  but  succeed  ; 
Fortune,  we  know,  can  ne'er  forsake  the  Duke  ! 
And  only  under  Wallenstein  can  Austria 
Be  conqueror. 

ILLO 

The  Duke  wall  soon  assemble 
A  mighty  army :  all  comes  crowding,  streaming 
To  banners,  dedicate  by  destiny. 
To  fame,  and  prosperous  fortune.     I  behold 
Old  times  come  back  again!  he  will  become 
Once  more  the  mighty  Lord  which  he  has  been 
How  will  the  fools,  who've  now  deserted  him, 
Look  then  ?    I  can't  but  laugh  to  think  of  them,  <^ 

For  lands  will  he  present  to  all  his  friends, 


SG.  Vm.''  THE   DEATH   OF   WALLENSTElN.  265 

And  like  a  Iviug  and  Emperor  re^vai'd 
True  services ;  but  we'ye  the  nearest  claims 

[To  Gordon. 

You  will  not  be  forgotten,  Governor: 

He'll  take  you  from  this  nest,  and  bid  you  shme 

In  higher  station  :  your  fidelity 

\Yell  merits  it. 

GORDON 

I  am  content  already.. 
And  wish  to  climb  no  higher ;  where  gTeat  height  is, 
The  fall  must  needs  be  great.    "  Great  height,  great  depth. 

I  LLC. 

Here  you  have  no  more  business,  for  to-morrow 
The  Swedes  will  take  possession  of  the  citadel. 
Come,  Terzky.  it  is  supper-time.     What  tliiuk  you  ? 
Nay,  shall  we  have  the  town  illuminated 
In  honour  of  the  Swede?     And  who  refuses 
To  do  it  is  a  Spaniard  and  a  traitor 

TERZKY 

Nay !  nay !  not  that,  it  vdW  not  please  the  Duke — 

I  LLC. 

What!  we  are  masters  here;  no  soul  shall  dare 
Avow  himself  Imperial  where  we've  the  rule. 
Gordon !  good  night,  and  for  the  last  time,  take 
A  fair  leave  of  the  place.     Send  out  patroles  ^ 
To  make  secure,  the  watch-word  may  be  alter'd 
At  the  stroke  of  ten  ;  deliver  in  the  keys 
To  the  Duke  himself,  and  then  you've  quit  for  ever 
Your  wardship  of  the  gates,  for  on  to-morrow 
The  Swedes  will  take  possession  of  the  citadel. 

TERZKY  {as  he  is  aoiiirj,  to  bctleb). 
You  come,  though,  to  the  castle? 

BUTLEB. 

At  the  right  time. 
[Exeioit  Terzky  and  Illo, 

Scene  VIII. 
Gordon  and  Butler. 
GORDON  (looking  after  them). 
Unhappy  men  !     How  free  from  all  foreboding! 
They  rush  into  the  outspread  net  of  murdev. 


26G  THE   DEATH    OK   WAI.I.ENSTEIN  [ACT  IV. 


In  the  blind  drunkenness  of  victory ; 

T  have  no  pity  for  their  fate.     This  Illo, 

This  overflowing  and  foolhardy  villain. 

That  would  fain  bathe  himself  in  liis  Emperor's  blood.— 

BUTLER. 

Do  as  ho  order'd  you.     Send  round  patroles, 
Take  measures  for  the  citadels  security; 
When  they  are  within  I  close  the  castle-gate 
That  nothing  may  transpire. 

GORDON  [icith  earnest  anxiety). 

Oh !  haste  not  80 ! 
Nay,  stop ;  first  tell  me 

BUTLER. 

You  have  heard  already, 
To-moiTow  to  the  Swedes  belongs.     This  night 
Alone  is  ours.     They  make  good  expedition. 
But  we  will  make  still  greater.     Fare  you  well 

GORDON. 

Ah  !  your  looks  tell  me  nothing  good      Nay,  Butler, 
I  pray  you,  promise  me  I 

BUTLER 

The  sun  has  set ; 
A  fateful  evening  doth  descend  upon  us, 
And  brings  on  their  long  night !     Their  evil  stars 
Deliver  them  unarm'd  into  our  hands. 
And  from  their  drunken  dream  of  golden  fortunes 
The  dagger  at  their  heart  sliall  rouse  them.     Well, 
The  Duke  was  ever  a  great  calculator; 
His  fellow-men  were  figui-es  on  his  chess-board, 
To  move  and  station,  as  his  game  required. 
Other  men's  honour,  dignity,  good  name, 
Did  he  shift  like  pawns,  and  made  no  conscienc2  cf 
Still  calcuhiting,  ca^lculating  still ; 
And  yet  at  last  his  calculation  proves 
Erroneous;  the  whole  game  is  lost;  and  lo! 
His  own  life  will  be  found  among  the  forfeitf . 

OOBOON. 

0  think  not  of  his  errors  now  !  remember 
His  greatness,  his  munificence ;  thick  on  all 


SC.Vm.]  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLENSTEIN  ~^ ' 

Tlie  lovely  features  of  his  character. 
On  all  the  noble  exploits  of  his  life, 
And  let  them,  like  an  angeVs  arm,  unseen. 
Arrest  the  lifted  sword. 

BUTLER. 

It  is  too  late. 

I  suffer  not  myelf  to  feel  compassion. 

Dark  thoughts  and  bloody  are  my  (Zwfy  now :    ^ 

[Grasping  Gordon  s  havA. 

Gordon !  'tis  not  my  hatred,  (T  pretend  not 

To  love  the  Duke,  and  have  no  cause  to  love  him.) 

Yet  'tis  not  now  my  hatred  that  impels  me 

To  he  his  murderer.     'Tis  his  evil  fate. 

Hostile  concurrences  of  many  events 
Control  and  subjugate  me  to  the  of&ce. 
In  vain  the  human  being  meditates 
Free  action.     He  is  but  the  wire-work  d*  puppet 
Of  the  blind  Power,  which  out  of  its  own  choice 
Creates  for  him  a  dread  necessity. 
What  too  would  it  avail  him,  if  there  were 
A  something  pleading  for  him  m  my  heart- 
Still  I  must  kill  him. 

GORDON. 

If  your  heart  speak  to  you. 
Follow  its  impulse.     'Tis  the  voice  of  God. 
Think  you  your  fortmies  will  grow  prosperous       ^ 
Bedew'd  with  blood— his  blood  ?     Believe  it  not . 

BUTLER. 

You  know  not.     Ask  not !     Wherefore  should  it  happen, 

That  the  Swedes  gain'd  the  victory,  and  hasten 

With  such  forced  marches  hitherwards  ?     Fain  would  I 

Have  given  him  to  the  Emperor's  mercy.     Gordon . 

I  do  not  wish  his  blood— But  I  must  ransom 

The  honour  of  my  word,— it  lies  m  pledge— 

And  he  must  die,  or _  i,     a 

[Passionately  grasping  Gordons  nana. 
Listen  then,  and  know, 
I  am  dislionourd  if  the  Duke  escape  us. 

.  We  doubt  the  propriety  of  putting  so  blasphemous  a  statement  in  the 
mouth  of  any  character. — T. 


268  THE  DEATH   OF  AVALI.KNSTKIN  [aCT  IV. 

GORDON. 

O !  to  save  such  a  man 


BDTLER. 

What ! 

GORDON. 

It  is  worth 
A  sacrifice.     Come,  friend!     Be  noble-minded! 
Our  own  heart,  and  not  other  men's  opinions, 
Forms  our  true  honour. 

BUTLER  (iiHth  a  cold  and  haughtu  air). 
He  is  a  great  Lord, 
This  Duke — and  I  am  hut  of  mean  importance. 
This  is  what  you  would  say !  Wherein  concerns  it 
The  world  at  large,  you  mean  to  hint  to  me, 
Whether  the  man  of  l-ow  extraction  keeps 
Or  blemishes  his  honour — 
So  that  the  man  of  pi'incel  j  rank  be  saved  ? 
We  all  do  stamp  our  value  on  ourselves  : 
The  price  we  challenge  for  ourselves  is  given  us. 
There  does  not  live  on  earth  the  man  so  statiou'd, 
That  I  despise  myself  compared  with  him. 
]\Ian  is  made  great  or  little  by  his  own  will ; 
Because  I  am  true  to  mine,  thei'efore  he  dies. 

GORDON. 

I  am  endeavouring  to  move  a  rock. 

Thou  hadst  a  mother,  yet  no  human  feelings. 

I  cainiot  hinder  you,  but  may  some  God 

Rescue  him  from  you !  [Exit  Gordon. 

BUTLER*  (alone). 
I  treasured  my  good  name  all  my  life  long; 
The  Duke  has  cheated  me  of  life's  best  jewel. 
So  that  I  blush  before  this  poor  weak  Gordon ! 
He  prizes  above  all  his  fealty ; 
His  conscious  soul  accuses  him  of  nothing: 
In  opnosition  to  his  own  soft  heart 
He  subjugates  himself  to  an  iron  duty. 

♦  [Tliis  soliloquy,  which,  according  to  the  former  arrant^ement,  constituteJ 
the  whole  of  Scene  IX.,  and  concluded  the  Fourth  Act,  is  omitted  in  all  the 
]titnted  German  editions.  It  seems  probable  that  it  existed  in  the  original 
uiaiuiscript  from  which  Mr.  Coleridge  translated. — IJd.] 


SC.  IX.]  THE    DEATH   OF   WALI-ENSTEIN.  -"'^ 

Mc  in  a  weaker  moment  passion  warp'd ; 
J  stand  beside  liim,  and  must  feel  myself 
The  worse  man  of  the  two.     What,  thouj^h  the  world 
Is  ignorant  of  my  purposed  treason,  yet 
(fne'mRn  does  luiow  it,  and  can  prove  it  too— 
High-minded  Piccolomini! 
There  hves  tlie  man  who  can  dishonour  me ! 
This  ignominv  bkwd  alone  can  cleanse ! 
Duke  Friedland,  thou  or  I— Into  my  own  hands 
Fortune  delivers  me— The  dearest  thing  a  man  has  is  iura- 
self. 

SCEN-E   IX. 

A  Gothic  and  ijloomy  Apartment  at  f/ie  Duchess  Friedland's 
Thekla  on  a  seat,  pale,  her  eyes  closed.  The  Dtjchess  and 
Lady  Neubrunn  busied  about  her.  Wallenstein  and  the 
Countess  in  conversation 

wallenstein 
How  knew  she  it  so  soon  ? 

COUMTESS. 

She  seems  to  have 
Foreboded  some  misfortune.     The  report 
Of  an  engagement,  in  the  which  had  tall  en 
A  colonef  of  the  Imperial  army,  frighten'd  her. 
1  saw  it  instantly      She  flew  to  meet 
The  Swedish  courier,  and  with  sudden  questioning, 
Soon  wrested  from  him  the  disastrous  secret. 
Too  late  we  missed  her,  hasten'd  after  her, 
AVe  found  her  lying  in  his  arms,  all  pale 
And  in  a  swoon. 

WALLEXSTEIX. 

A  heavy,  heavy  blow  I 
And  she  so  unprepared  .'     Poor  child  !  how  is  it  ? 

[Turning  to  the  Duchess. 

Is  she  coming  to  herself? 

DUCHESS 

Her  eyes  are  opening 

COUNTESS 

She  lives ! 

THEKLA  {looking  around  her), 
"Vyhere  am  I  ? 


270  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLENSTEIN  [ACT    IV. 

WAJXENSTEIN  {steps  to  her,  raising  Iter  up  in  Jiis  amis) 
Come,  cheerly,  Thekla !  be  my  own  bi-ave  girl ! 
See,  there's  thy  lonng  mother.     Thou  art  in 
Thy  father's  arms. 

THEKLA  {standing  up). 
Where  is  he  ?     Is  he  goncV 

DUCHESS. 

Who  gone,  my  daughter? 

THEKLA. 

He— the  man  who  uttsr'd 
That  word  of  misery 

DUCHESS. 

O  !  think  not  of  it, 
My  Thekla  *. 

WALLEN'STEIN. 

Give  her  sorrow  leave  to  talk  I 
T  et  hor  complain— mingle  your  tears  with  hers, 
For  she  hath  sufferd  a  deep  anguish ;  but 
Shell  rise  superior  to  it,  for  my  Thekla 
Hath  all  her  father's  unsubdued  heart. 

THEKLA. 

I  am  not  ill.     See.  I  have  power  to  stand. 

"VVhy  does  my  mother  weep  ?     Have  I  alarui'd  her  ? 

It  is  gone  by— I  recollect  myself — 

[She  casts  her  eyes  round  the  room,  as  seeking  some  one 
Where  is  he  ?     Please  you,  do  not  hide  him  from  m?-. 
You  see  I  have  strength  enough :  now  1  will  hear  hi:n 

DUCHESS. 

No  ;  never  shall  this  messenger  of  evil 
Enter  again  into  thy  presence,  Thekla ! 

THEKLA 

My  father — 

WALLENSTEIN 

Dearest  daughter ! 

THEKLA. 

I'm  not  weak — 
Shortly  I  shall  be  quite  myself  again. 
You'll  grant  me  one  request  ? 


SC.  IX.]  THE    DEATH    OF    WALLENSTEIN.  -  <  1 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Name  it,  my  daughter. 

THEKLA. 

Permit  the  stranger  to  Le  called  to  me, 
And  grant  me  leave,  that  by  myself  I  may 
Hear  his  report  and  question  him. 

DUCHESS. 

No,  never! 

COUNTESS. 

Tis  not  advisable— assent  not  to  it. 

WALLEN STEIN 

Hush !     Wherefore   wouldst    thou   speak   with   him.,    my 
daughter  ? 

THEKLA. 

Knowing  the  whole,  I  shall  be  more  collected  ; 
1  will  not  be  deceived.     j\Iy  mother  wishes 
Only  to  spare  me.     I  N\ill  not  be  spared — 
The  worst  is  said  already  :  I  can  hear 
■  Nothing  of  deeper  anguish  ! 

COUNTESS  and  duchess. 
Do  it  not. 

THEKLA. 

The  horror  overpower'd  me  by  sui-prise. 

My  heart  betray  d  me  in  the  stranger's  presence : 

He  was  a  witness  of  my  weakness,  yea, 

I  sank  into  his  arms ;  and  that  has  shamed  me. 

I  must  replace  myself  in  his  esteem, 

And  I  must  speak  with  him,  perforce,  that  he, 

The  stranger,  may  not  thnik  ungently  of  me. 

WALLENSTETN. 

I  see  she  is  in  the  right,  and  am  inclined 

To  grant  her  this  request  of  hers.     Go,  call  him. 

[Lady  Neubrunn  goes  to  call  him. 

duchess. 
But  I,  thy  mother,  will  be  present — 

THEKLA. 

"Twere 
More  pleasing  to  me.  if  alone  I  saw  him ; 
Trust  me,  I  shall  behave  myself  the  morw 
Collectedly. 


72  THE    DEATH    OF  WALLENSTEIN  [ACT   IV. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Permit  her  her  own  v,i]\. 
Leave  her  alone  with  hina :  for  there  are  sorrows, 
Where  of  necessity  the  soul  must  be 
Its  own  support.     A  strong  heart  vrill  rely 
On  its  own  strength  alone.     In  her  own  bosom. 
Xot  in  her  mother's  arms,  must  she  collect 
The  strength  to  rise  superior  to  this  blow. 
It  is  mine  own  brave  girl.     I'll  have  her  treated 
Xot  as  the  woman,  but  the  heroine.  [Going. 

COUNTESS  {detaining  him). 
Where  art  thou  going  ?     I  heard  Terzky  say 
That  'tis  thij  purpose  to  depart  from  hence 
To-morrow  early,  but  to  leave  us  here. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Yes,  ye  stay  here,  placed  mider  the  protecliou 
Of  gallant  men . 

COUNTESS. 

0  take  us  •with  you,  brother . 
Leave  us  not  in  this  gloomy  solitude 
To  brood  o'er  anxious  thoughts.     The  mists  of  doubt 
Magnify  evils  to  a  shape  of  horror. 

WAI.LENSTEIN. 

Who  speaks  of  evil  ?     I  entreat  you,  sister, 
Use  words  of  better  omen. 

COUNTESS 

Then  take  us  w'th  you. 

0  leave  us  not  behind  you  in  a  place 
That  forces  us  to  such  sad  omens.     Hea\'y 
And  sick  within  roe  is  my  heart 

These  walls  breathe  on  me.  like  a  church  yard  vault. 

1  cannot  tell  you,  brother,  how  this  place 
Doth  go  against  my  nature.     Take  us  with  yo;i. 
Come,  sister,  join  you  j'our  entreaty  !     Niece, 
Yours  too.     W^e  all  entreat  you,  take  us  with  you ! 

WATXENSTEIN. 

The  places  evil  omens  will  I  change, 

Making  it  that  which  shields  and  shelters  for  me 

My  best  belovetj. 


gC.  X.I  THE   DEATH   OF   WALLENSTElN.  273 

LADY  NEUBRUNN  (returning). 
The  Swedish  officer. 

WALLEXSTEIN. 

Leave  her  alone  with  me. 

DUCHESS  {to  THEKLA,  M'7to  Starts  and  shivers) 
There— pale  as  death  !     Child,  'tis  impossible 
That  thou  shouldst  speak  with  him.     Follow  thy  motlier. 

THEKLA. 

The  Lady  Neubrunn  then  may  stay  with  me. 

[Exeunt  Duchess  and  Couk'^fss 

Scene  X. 
Thekla,  the  Swedish  Captain,  Lady  Neubr'jsn 
CAPTAIN  {respectfully  approaching  her). 
Princess— I  must  entreat  your  gentle  pardon — 
My  inconsiderate  rash  speech.     How  could  I — 

thekla  {uith  dignity). 
You  have  beheld  me  in  my  agony. 
A  most  distressful  accident  occasion 'd 
You  from  a  stranger  to  become  at  once 
My  confidant. 

CAPTAIN. 

I  fear  you  hate  my  presence, 
For  my  tongue  spake  a  melancholy  word. 

THEKLA. 

The  fault  is  mine.     Myself  did  wrest  it  from  you. 
The  horror  which  came  o'er  me  interrupted 
Your  tale  at  its  commencement.     May  it  please  you, 
Continue  it  to  the  end. 

CAPTAIN. 

Princess,  'twill 
Renew  your  anguish. 

thekla. 

I  am  firm, 

I  xdll  be  firm.     Weil— how  began  the  engagement? 

CAPTAIN. 

We  lay,  expecting  no  attack,  at  Neustadt, 
Entrench'd  hni  insecurely  in  our  camp, 

T 


274  TIIK    DEATH   OF   WALLENSTElN.  [acT  IV. 

When  towards  evening  rose  a  cloud  of  dust 
From  the  wood  thitherward :  our  vanguard  fled 
Into  the  camp,  and  sounded  the  alarm. 
Scarce  had  we  mounted,  ere  the  Pappenheimers. 
Their  horses  at  full  speed,  broke  through  the  lines, 
And  leapt  the  trenches  ;  hut  tlieir  heedless  courage 
Had  borne  them  onward  far  before  the  others — 
The  infantry  were  still  at  distance,  only 
The  Pappenheimers  follow'd  daringly 

Their  daring  leader 

[Thekla  betrays  agitation  in  her  gestures.  The  officer 
pauses  till  she  makes  a  sign  to  him  to  proceed. 

CAPTAIN. 

Both  in  van  and  flanks 
With  our  whole  cavahy  we  now  received  them ; 
Back  to  the  trenches  drove  them,  where  the  foot 
Slretch'd  out  a  solid  ridge  of  pikes  to  meet  them 
They  neither  could  advance,  nor  yet  retreat ; 
And  as  they  stood  on  every  side  wedged  in. 
The  Rhinegrave  to  their  leader  call'd  aloud. 
Inviting  a  suiTender  ;  hut  their  lead-er, 

Young  Piccolomini 

[Thekla,  as  giddg,  grasps  a  chair 
Known  by  his  plume. 
And  his  long  hair,  gave  signal  for  the  trenches  ; 
Himself  leapt  first:  the  regiment  all  plunged  after. 
His  charger,  by  a  hall)ert  gored,  rear'd  up. 
Flung  him  with  violence  off,  and  over  him 

The  liorses.  now  no  longer  to  be  curbed. 

[TnKKLA,  vho  has  accompanied  the  last  speech  uith  all 
the  )narks  of  increasing  agony,  trembles  through  her 
whole  frame,  and  is  falling.  The  Lady  Neubri  Nt; 
runs  to  her,  and  receives  her  in  her  arms. 

NEUBRUNX 

My  dearest  lady  — 

CAPTAIN. 

I  retire 

THEKLA 

Tis  over. 
Proceed  to  the  conclusion. 


gC,  X.I         THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN.  275 

CAPTAIN. 

Wild  despair 
Inspired  the  troops  with  frenzy  when  they  saw 
Their  leader  perish  ;  every  thought  of  rescue 
Was  spumed ;  they  fought  like  wounded  tigers ;  their 
Frantic  resistance  roused  our  soldiery  ; 
A  murderous  fight  took  place,  nor  was  the  contest 
Finish'd  before  their  last  man  fell. 

THEKLA  [faltering). 

And  where 

Where  is — You  have  not  told  me  all 

CAPTAIN  [after  a  jmiise). 

This  moruing 
We  buried  him.     Twelve  youths  of  noblest  birth 
Did  bear  him  to  interment ;  the  whole  army 
Follow'd  the  bier.     A  laurel  deck'd  his  coffin  ; 
The  sword  of  the  deceased  was  placed  upon  it. 
In  mark  of  honour,  by  the  Rhinegrave's  self. 
Nor  tears  were  wanting ;  for  there  are  among  us 
Many,  who  had  themselves  experienced 
The  greatness  of  his  mind,  and  gentle  manners  ; 
All  were  affected  at  his  fate.     The  Rhinegrave 
Would  willingly  have  saved  him  ;  but  himself 
Made  vain  the  attempt — 'tis  said  he  wish'd  to  die. 

NEUBRUSN  [to  THEKLA,  who  has  hidden  her  countenance' 
Look  up,  my  dearest  lady 

THEKLA. 

Where  is  his  grave  '^ 

CAPTAIN 

At  Neustadt,  lady  ;  in  a  cloister  church 

Are  his  remains  deposited,  until 

We  can  receive  directions  from  his  father. 

THEKLA. 

What  is  the  cloister's  name  ? 

CAPTAIN. 

Saint  Catherines 

THEKLA. 

And  how  far  is  it  thither? 

CAPTAIN. 

Near  twelve  leagues. 
T  '^ 


27G  THE   DEATH   OF    WALLEKSTEJN.  [aCT  IV. 

THEKLA. 

And  which  the  way  ? 

CAPTAIN. 

You  go  by  Tirschcnreut 
And  Falkenberg,  through  our  advanced  posts. 

TnEKL.\. 

Who 
Is  their  commander? 

CAPTAIN. 

Colonel  Seckendorf. 
[Thekla  ste2)s  to    the   table,   and  takes  a  ring  from    a 
casket. 

thekla. 
You  have  beheld  me  in  m}'  agony, 
And  sho^NTi  a  feeling  heart.     Please  you,  accept 

[Giving  him  the  ring. 
A  small  memorial  of  this  hour.     Now  go ! 
CAPTAIN  {conftisedly). 

Princess 

[Thekla  silenthj  makes  signs  to  him  to  go,  and  turns 
from  him.  The  Captain  lingers,  and  is  about  to 
speak.  Lady  Neubrunn  repeats  the  signal,  and  h» 
retires. 

Scene  XI. 
Thekla,  Lady  Neubrunn. 
THEKLA  {falls  on  LADY  neubrunn's  mck). 
Now,  gentle  Neubrunn,  show  me  the  aflfection 
Which  thou  hast  ever  promised — prove  thyself 
My  own  true  friend  and  faithful  fellow-pilgrim. 
This  ii'jht  we  must  away! 

neubrunn. 

Away  !  and  whither  ? 

THEKLA. 

Whither  !  There  is  but  one  place  in  the  world 
Thither,  where  he  lies  buried  !  To  Lis  coflBn  • 

neubrunn. 
What  would  you  do  there  ? 


BC    XI.l  THE   DEATH   OF  WALLEKSTEIX.  277 

THEBXA. 

What  do  there  ? 
That  wouldst  thou  not  have  ask'd,  hadst  thou  eer  ioved. 
There,  there  is  all  that  still  remains  of  him  ! 
That  single  spot  is  the  whole  earth  to  me. 

NEOBRUlvK. 

That  place  of  death 

THEKLA. 

Is  now  the  only  place 
Where  life  yet  dwells  for  me  :  detain  me  not! 
Come  and  make  preparations  ;  let  us  thmk 
Of  means  to  fly  from  hence. 

NEUBBUKN. 

Your  father's  rage  — 

THEKLA. 

That  time  is  past 

And  now  1  fear  no  human  being's  rage. 

NEUBEUNN. 

The  sentence  of  the  world !  The  tongue  of  calumny ! 

THEKLA. 

AVhom  am  I  seeking  ?     Him  who  is  no  more. 

Am  I  then  hastening  to  the  arms 0  God '. 

1  haste  but  to  the  grave  of  the  beloved. 

NEUBR'^-^-. 

And  we  alone,  two  helpless  fee wc  \v.>ireu? 

THEKLA. 

We  will  take  weapons :  my  arm  shall  protect  thee. 

NEUBBUNN. 

In  the  dai-k  night-time  ? 

THEKLA. 

Darkness  will  con.ceal  ua 

KEUBRUNX. 

This  rough  tempestuous  night • 

THEKLA. 

Had  he  a  soft  bed 
Under  tlie  hoofs  of  his  war-horses? 

KEUBHUNN. 

Heaven ! 
And  then  the  many  posts  of  the  enemy 


78  'iHE   DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  [ACV  1Y. 

THEKLA. 

They  are  human  beings.     Misery  travels  free 
Through  the  whole  cai'th. 

KEUBItUKN. 

The  jounicy's  weary  length 

TIIEKLA. 

The  pilgrim,  travelling  to  a  distant  shrine 

Of  hope  and  healing,  doth  not  count  the  leagues. 

NEUBRUXN. 

How  can  we  pass  the  gates  ? 

THEKLA. 

Gold  opens  them 
Go,  do  but  go 

NEUBRUNN. 

Should  we  be  recognised • 

THKKLA. 

In  a  despairing  woman,  a  poor  fugitive. 

Will  no  one  seek  the  daugliter  of  Duke  Friedland. 

NEUBKUNN. 

And  where  procure  we  horses  for  our  flight? 

THEKLA. 

My  equerry  procures  them.     Go  and  fetch  him. 

NEUBBUNK. 

Dares  he,  without  the  knowledge  of  his  lord  ? 

THEKLA. 

He  will.     Go,  only  go.     Delay  no  longer 

NEUBRUNN. 

Dear  lady !  and  your  mother  ? 

THEKLA. 

Oh!  my  mother! 

NEUBBUNN. 

So  much  as  she  has  suffer'd  too  already ; 
Your  tender  mother — Ah !  how  ill  prepared 
For  this  last  anguish ! 

THEKLA. 

Woe  is  me !  my  mothei'  I 
Go  insiaiiLlV 


SC.  XII.'  TH^   DEATH    OF    WALLEXSTEIN  2/9 

NEUBRITKK. 

But  think  ^vhat  you  are  doing  I 

THEKLA. 

What  can  he  thought,  already  has  been  thonght. 

KEUBRIKN. 

And  being  there,  what  purpose  you  to  do  ? 

THEKLA- 

Tlrere  a  Divmity  v.ill  prompt  my  soul. 

KEUBRUNN. 

Your  heart,  deai-  lady,  is  disquieted! 

And  this  is  not  the  ^vay  that  leads  to  quiet, 

THEKLA. 

To  a  deep  quiet,  such  as  he  has  found. 

It  draws  me  on,  I  know  not  what  to  name  it. 

Resistless  does  it  draw  me  to  his  grave. 

There  will  my  heart  be  eased,  my  tears  will  flow 

0  hasten,  make  no  further  questioning ! 

There  is  no  rest  for  me  till  I  have  left 

These  walls— they  fall  in  on  me— a  dim  power 

Drives  me  from  hence-Oh  mercy  I     What  a  feeling . 

What  pale  and  hollow  forms  are  those  !     Ihey  faU,  ^ 

Thev  crowd  the  place  !  I  have  no  longer  room  here . 

Mercy!     Still  more  !     More  still !     The  hideous^swarm  . 

They  press  on  me  ;  thoy  chase  me  from  these  wa.15— 

Those  hollow,  bodiless  forms  of  livmg  men  . 

necbbt:n>'. 
You  frighten  me  so,  lady,  that  no  longer 
I  dare  stay  here  myself.     I  go  and  call 
Rosenberg  instantly.  [Exit  Lady  ^eubrdk:^ 

Scene  XII. 

THEKLA. 

His  spu-it  'tis  that  calls  me  :  'tis  the  troop 

Of  his  true  followei-s,  who  offer'd  up 

Themselves  to  avenge  his  death :  and  they  accuse  me 

Of  an  ignoble  loitering— f/i^i/  would  not 

Forsake  their  leader  even  in  his  deaih—they  died  foi  him 

And  shall  I  live  ?—  ,      ,      •     , 

For  me  too  was  that  laurel-garland  twuied 

That  decks  his  bier.     Life  is  an  empty  casket : 


280  THE   DEATH  OP    WALLEN8TEIN.  [AOT  IT. 

I  throw  it  from  me.     0  !  my  only  hope ; — 
To  die  beneath  the  hoofs  of  trampling  steeds — 
That  is  the  lot  of  heroes  upon  earth ! 

[Exit  Thekla*. 
(The  Curtain  drops.) 

Scene  XIII. 

Thekia,  Lady  Neubrunn,  and  Rosenberu. 

[[neubrunn 
Ho  is  here  lady,  and  he  \\-ill  procure  them. 

thekla. 
Wilt  thou  provide  us  horses,  Rosenberg  ? 

ROSENBERG. 

I  will,  my  lady. 

THEKLA. 

And  go  with  us  as  well ? 

ROSENBERO. 

To  the  vrorld's  end,  my  lady. 

THEKLA 

But  consider, 
Thou  never  canst  return  unto  the  Duke. 

ROSENBERG. 

I  will  remain  with  thee. 

THEKLA. 

1  \viil  reward  thee, 
And  will  commend  thee  to  another  master. 
Canst  thou  unseen  conduct  us  from  the  castle? 

ROSENBERG. 

I  can. 

THEKIA 

When  can  I  go  ? 

ROSENBERG. 

This  very  hour 
But  whither  would  you.  Lady  ? 

THEKL.V 

To Tell  him,  Neubrunn. 

•  The  soliloquy  of  Thekla  consists  in  the  original  of  six-and-twenty  line*, 
twenty  of  which  are  in  rhymes  of  irregular  recurrence.  I  thought  it  prudent 
to  abridge  it.  Indeed  the  whole  scene  between  Thekla  and  Lady  Neubrunn 
uiigfat,  perhaps,  have  been  omitted  without  injury  to  the  play. — C. 


SC,  XIV.]  THE   DEATH  OF    WALLENSTEIN  281 

NETJBRTJXN- 

To  Neustadt 

ROSENBERG. 

So ;— I  leave  you  to  get  ready.     [Exit. 

NEUBEDNN. 

0  see,  your  mother  comes. 

THEKCA. 

Indeed  !    0  Heav'u ! 

Scene  XIV. 
Thekla,  Lady  Neubrunn,  the  Duchess 

DUCHESS. 

He's  gone !    I  find  thee  more  composed,  my  child 

THEKLA. 

1  am  so,  mother ;  let  me  only  now 

Retire  to  rest,  and  Neubrunn  here  he  with  me. 
I  want  repose. 

DUCHESS. 

My  Thekla,  thou  shalt  have  it 
I  leave  thee  now  consoled,  since  I  can  calm 
Thy  father's  heart. 

THEKLA. 

Good  night,  beloved  mother  I 
{Falling  on  her  neck  and  embracing  her  mth  deep  emntwn.) 

DUCHESS. 

Thou  scarcely  art  composed  e'en  now,  my  daughter. 
Thou  tremblest  strongly,  and  I  feel  thy  heart 
Beat  audibly  on  mme. 

THEKLA. 

Sleep  will  appease 
Its  beating :  now  good  night,  good  night,  dear  molher.] 
(.Is  she  idthdraivs  from  her  mothers  arms  the  curtain fallti) 

ACT  V 

Scene  I. 

Butlers  Chamber. 

Butler,  and  Major  Geraldin. 

BUTLER. 

Find  me  twelve  strong  dragoons,  arm  them  with  pikes, 
For  there  must  be  no  firing 


282  THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN.         [aCT  V 

CoLccal  them  somewhere  near  the  banquetroom. 
And  soon  as  the  dessert  is  served  up,  rush  all  iu 
And  cry — "  Who  is  loyal  to  the  Emperor!" 
I  will  overtura  the  table — while  you  attack 
Illo  and  Terzky,  and  despatch  them  both. 
The  castle-palace  is  well  barr'd  and  guarded, 
That  no  intelligence  of  this  proceeding 
May  make  its  way  to  the  Duke.     Go  instantly ; 
Have  you  yet  sent  for  Captain  Devereux 
And  the  Macdonald?-: 

GERALDIN 

They'll  be  here  anon. 

[Exit  Ger.\i.d:n. 

BUTI.ER 

Here's  no  room  for  delay.     The  citizens 
Declare  for  him,  a  dizzy  drunken  si)irit 
Possesses  the  whole  town.     They  see  in  the  Duke 
A  Prince  of  peace,  a  founder  of  new  ages 
And  golden  times.     Arms  too  have  been  given  out 
By  the  town-council,  and  a  hundred  citizens 
Have  volunteered  themselves  to  stand  on  guard. 
Despatch !  then,  be  the  word  ;  for  enemies 
Threaten  us  from  without  and  from  within. 

Scene  II. 
Butler,  Captain  Devereux,  and  Macdonald 

MACDONALD. 

Here  we  are,  Genera. 

devebeux. 

What's  to  be  the  watchword  ? 
butler. 
Ijong  live  the  Emperor ! 

BOTH  (recoiling). 
How? 

BUTLER. 

Live  the  House  of  Austria 

DEVEREUX. 

HaNO  we  not  awom  fidelity  to  Friedland? 

MACDONALD. 

Have  w«  not  march'd  to  this  place  to  protect  hiaa  ? 


6C.  n.l  THE  DEATH    OF   WALI.ENSTEIX.  -^^ 

BUTLER. 

Protect  a  traitor,  and  his  countiy's  enemy? 

DEVEREUX. 

Why,  yes !  in  his  name  you  administer  d 
Our  oath 

MACDOXALD 

And  follo\v"d  him  yourself  to  Egra. 

BUTLER 

1  did  it  the  more  surely  to  destroy  him 

DEVEREUX 

So  then ! 

5IACD0NALD 

An  alter'd  case ! 

BUTLER  {to  DEVEREUX). 

Thou  wretched  man 
So  easily  leavest  thou  thy  oath  and  colours? 

DEVEREUX. 

The  de\dl !— 1  but  follow'd  your  example, 
If  you  could  prove  a  villain,  why  not  we  ? 

MACDON'ALD. 

We've  nought  to  do  with  ihinkinj—ih&ts  yonr  business. 
You  are  our  General,  and  give  out  the  orders ; 
We  follow  you,  though  the  track  lead  to  hen. 

BUTLER  {appeased) 
Good  then!  we  know  each  other. 

MACEONALD- 

I  should  hope  so. 

DEVEREUX. 

Soldiers  of  fortune  are  we— who  bids  most. 
He  has  us. 

MACDONALD. 

Tis  e'en  so ! 

BUTLER. 

Well,  for  the  present 
Ye  mast  remain  hmest  and  faithful  soldiers. 

DEVEREUX 

We  wish  no  other. 

BUTLER 

Ay,  and  make  youi"  fcrtunssi 


28-j.  lUE   DEATH  OF  WALLEK8TEIN.  [aCT  V, 

MACDONILD. 

That  is  still  better. 

Listen ! 

BOTH. 

We  attend. 

BUTLER. 

It  is  the  Emperor's  will  and  ordinance 

To  seLre  the  person  of  the  Prince-Duke  Friedland, 

^Uive  or  dsad. 

DEVEREUX. 

It  runs  so  in  the  letter 

MACDONALD. 

Alive  or  dead — these  were  the  very  words 

BUTLER. 

And  he  shall  be  rewarded  from  the  State 
In  land  and  gold,  who  proffers  aid  thereto 

DEVEREUX. 

Ay !  that  sounds  well      The  uords  sound  always  \\e\] 
That  travel  hither  from  the  Court.     Yes  !  yes ! 
We  know  already  what  Court-words  import. 
A  golden  chain  perhaps  in  sign  of  favour, 
Or  an  old  charger,  or  a  parchment  patent, 
And  such  like. — The  Prince-Duke  pays  better 

MACDONALD. 


Yes 


The  Duke's  a  splendid  paymaster. 

BUTLER. 

All  over 
With  that,  my  friends !   His  lucky  stars  are  set 

MACDONALD. 

And  is  that  certain ! 

BUTLER. 

Y'ou  have  my  word  for  it 

DEVEREUX. 

His  lucky  fortunes  all  past  by? 

BUTLER. 

For  ever 

Ue  is  as  poor  as  we. 

MACDONALD. 

As  poor  0.3  ue  ? 


SC.  11.1         THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN.  285 

DEVEREUX 

Macdoiiald,  we'll  desert  bim. 

BUTLER. 

We'll  desert  him  ? 
Full  twenty  thousand  have  done  that  already ; 
We  must  do  more,  m.y  countrymen !     In  short— 
\Ve — we  must  kill  him. 

BOTH  (starting  hack). 
lull  him! 

BUTLER. 

Yes,  must  kill  him; 
And  for  that  purpose  have  I  chosen  you. 

BOTH. 

Us! 

BUTLER. 

You,  Captain  Devereux,  and  thee,  Macdonald 

DEVEREUX  {after  a  pause). 
Choose  you  some  other. 

BUTLER. 

What !  art  dastardly  ? 
Thou,  with  full  thirty  lives  to  answer  for— 
Thou  conscientious  of  a  sudden  ? 

DEVEREUX. 

Nay 
To  assassinate  our  Lord  and  General 

MACDONALD. 


To  whom  we've  sworn  a  soldier's  oath- 

BUTLER. 


The  oath 


Is  null,  for  Friedland  is  a  traitor. 

DEVEREUX. 

No,  no !  it  is  too  bad  ! 

MACDONALD. 

Yes,  by  my  soul ! 
It  is  too  bad.     One  has  a  conscience  too-  • 

DEVEREUX. 

If  it  were  not  our  Chieftain,  who  so  long 

Has  issued  the  commaaids,  and  claim'd  our  duty— 

BUTLER. 

Is  that  the  objection  ? 


286  THF.    DBATII    OF    WALI.ENSTEIN.  [acT   V 

DEYEBEUX 

Were  it  my  own  father. 
And  the  Emperor's  service  should  demand  it  of  mo, 
It  might  be  done  perhaps — But  we  are  sokliers, 
And  to  assassinate  our  Chief  Commander, 
That  is  a  sin,  a  foul  ahomination, 
From  which  no  monk  or  confessor  absolves  us 

BUTI.ER. 

I  am  your  Pope,  and  give  you  absolution. 
Determine  quickly! 

DEVEREUX. 

Twill  not  do 

MACDONALD. 

'Twon't  do ! 

BUTLER. 

Well,  off  then  !  and — send  Pestalutz  to  me 

DEVEREUX  (Jiesitates). 
The  Pestalutz 

MACDONALD. 

What  may  you  want  with  hlnx? 

BUTLER. 

If  you  reject  it,  we  can  find  enough — 

DEVEREUX. 

Nay,  if  he  must  fall,  we  may  eani  the  bounty 
As  well  as  any  other.     What  think  you. 
Brother  Macdonald  ? 

MACDONALD. 

Why,  if  he  inust  full, 
And  will  fall,  and  it  can't  be  otherwise, 
One  would  not  give  place  to  this  Pestalutz. 

DEVEREUX  {after  some  reflection). 
When  do  you  purpose  he  should  fall? 

BUTLER. 

Tliis  night. 
To-morrow  will  the  Swedes  be  at  our  gates. 

DEVEREUX. 

You  tolte  upon  you  all  the  consequences? 

BUTLER 

I  take  the  whole  upon  me. 


gC,  n.]  THE   DEATH   OE*    WATXENSTtlM.  ^87 

DKVEBEITX. 

And  it  13 
The  Emperor's  ^vill,  his  express  absolute  \Yill  ? 
For  we  have  instances,  that  folks  may  like 
The  murder,  and  yet  hang  the  murderer. 

BUTLER 

The  manifesto  says—"  alive  or  dead." 
_^]iye — "tis  not  possible — you  see  it  is  not. 

DEVEREUX. 

Well,  dead  then  !  dead  !     But  how  can  ^Ye  corao  at  him 
The  to\ra  is  filled  with  Terzky's  soldieiy. 

MACDONALD. 

Ay !  and  then  Terzky  still  remains,  and  Illo 

BUTLER. 

With  these  you  shall  begin— you  understand  me  ? 

DEVEREUX. 

How !  And  must  they  too  perish  ? 

BUTLER. 

They  the  first 

MACDONALD 

Hear,  Devereux !     A  bloody  evening  this. 

DEVEREUX. 

Have  you  a  man  for  that?    Commission  me— 

BUTLER 

'Tis  given  in  trust  to  Major  Geraldin  ; 
This  is  a  carnival  night,  and  there's  a  feast 
Given  at  the  castle— there  we  shall  surprise  them. 
And  hew  tiiem  domi.     The  Pestalutz  and  Lesley 
Have  that  commission.     Soon  as  that  is  finish'd  — 

DEVEREUX. 

Heal-,  General!  It  will  be  all  one  to  you  — 
Hark  ye,  let  me  exchange  with  Geraldiu 

BUTLER. 

'Twill  be  the  lesser  danger  with  the  Duke. 

DEVEREUX. 

Danger!    The  devil !    What  do  you  thuik  me,  General 
Tis  the  Duke's  eye,  and  not  his  sword,  I  fear 

BUTLER 

What  can  his  e^-e  do  to  thee  ? 


288  THE    DEATU  OF    VTALLEKSTEIN.  [AOT  V, 

DEVEREUX. 

Death  and  hell ! 
Thou  know'st  that  I'm  no  milksop,  General ! 
But  'tis  not  eight  days  since  the  Duke  did  send  mfl 
Twenty  gold  pieces  for  this  good  warm  coat 
Wliich  1  have  on !  and  then  for  him  to  see  me 
Standing  before  him  -with  the  pike,  his  murderer, 
I'liat  eye  of  his  looking  upon  this  coat — 
Why— why — the  devil  fetch  me  !  I'm  no  milksop ! 

BUTLEB. 

The  Dulve  presented  thee  this  good  warm  coat, 

And  thou,  a  needy  wight,  hast  pangs  of  conscience 

To  run  him  through  the  body  in  return. 

A  coat  that  is  far  better  and  far  warmer 

Did  the  Emperor  give  to  him,  the  Prince's  mantle. 

How  doth  he  thank  the  Emperor?    With  revolt, 

And  treason. 

DEA'EKEUX. 

That  IS  true.  The  devil  take 
Such  thankers!  I'll  despatch  him. 

BTJTLEB. 

And  would'st  quiet 
Thy  conscience,  thou  hast  nought  to  do  but  simply 
Pull  off  the  coat ;  so  canst  thou  do  the  deed 
With  light  heart  and  good  spirits. 

DEVEREUX. 

You  are  right 
lliat  did  not  strike  me.     I'll  pull  off  the  coat — 
So  there's  an  end  of  it. 

MACDONALD. 

Yes,  but  there's  another 
Point  to  be  thought  of. 

BUTLER. 

And  what's  that,  Macdonald? 

MACDONALD. 

What  avails  sword  or  dagger  against  him  ? 
He  is  not  to  be  wounded — he  is — 

BUTLER  {starting  tip). 

What? 

MACDONALD, 

Safe  against  shot,  and  stab,  and  flash  !    Hard  frozen. 


S(3.   12.]  TSK   death   of   WALLEXSTEIK.  28y 

Secured  and  ^varranted  by  the  black  art ! 
His  body  is  impenetrable,  I  tell  you. 

DEVEBEUX 

In  Ingolstadt  there  was  just  such  another : 

His  whole  skin  was  the  same  as  steel ;  at  last 

We  were  obliged  to  beat  him  do\\-n  with  gimstxkp. 

AIACDO'ALD. 


Hear  what  111  do. 


DEVEEEUX. 

Well. 


MACDOXALD. 

In  the  cloister  here 
There's  a  Dominican,  my  countryman. 
I'll  make  him  dip  my  sword  and  pike  for  me 
In  holy  water,  and  say  over  them 
One  of  his  strongest  blessings      That  s  probatuni ! 
Nothing  can  stand  'gainst  that. 

BUTLER 

So  do,  Macdoiiiild ! 
But  now  go  and  select  from  out  the  regiment 
'J'wenty  or  thirty  able-bodied  fellows, 
And  let  them  take  the  oaths  to  the  Emperor.       ^ 
Then  when  it  strikes  eleven,  when  the  tirst  rouc^is 
Are  pass'd,  conduct  them  silently  as  may  be 
To  the  house— I  will  myself  be  not  far  oft. 

DEVEREUX. 

But  how  do  we  get  through  Hartschier  and  Gordon 
That  stand  on  guard  there  in  the  inner  chambei- ! 

BUTLER 

I  have  made  myself  acquainted  with  the  place, 
1  lead  you  through  a  back  door  that's  defended 
r>y  one  man  only.     Me  my  rank  and  office 
Give  access  to  the  Duke  at  every  hour. 
Ill  go  before  you— ^^ith  one  poniard-stroke 
Cut  Hartschier's  ^\indpipe,  and  make  way  for  you. 

DEVEREUX. 

And  when  we  are  there,  by  what  means  shall  we  gain 
The  Duke's  bed-chamber,  without  his  alarmuig 
The  servants  of  the  Court :  for  he  has  here 
A  numerous  company  of  followers? 


290  THE    DEATH   OF    WALLENSTEIN.  [^CT  V. 

BUTLEP,. 

The  attendants  fill  the  right  mug  :  he  hates  bustle. 
And  lodges  in  the  left  wing  quite  alone. 

DEVEREUX. 

Were  it  well  over  — hey,  Macdonald?  I 
Feel  queerly  on  the  occasion,  devil  kncwt-- ! 

MACDONALD. 

And  I  too      'Tis  too  great  a  personage. 
People  will  hold  us  for  a  brace  of  villains. 

BUTLER. 

In  plenty,  honour,  splendour — you  may  safely 
Laugh  at  the  peoples  babble. 

DEVEHEUX. 

If  the  business 
Squares  with  one's  honour — if  that  be  quite  certain  — 

BUTLER. 

Set  your  hearts  quite  at  ease.     Ye  save  for  Ferdinand 
His  crown  and  empire.     The  reward  can  bo 
No  small  one 

DEVEREUX 

And  'tis  his  purpose  to  dethrone  the  Emperor? 

BUTLER. 

Yes  ! — Yes  ! — to  rob  him  of  his  crown  and  life. 

DEVEREUX 

And  he  must  fall  by  the  executioner's  hands, 
Should  we  deliver  him  up  to  the  Emperor 
Alive  ? 

BUTLER. 

It  were  his  certain  destiny 

DEVEREUX. 

Well !  W511 !  Come  then,  Macdonald,  he  .shall  not 
Lie  long  in  pain. 

[Exeunt  Butler  through  one  door,  Macdokald 
Devereux  through  the  other. 

Scene  III. 

A  Saloon,  terminated  by  a  Gallery  ivhich  extends  far  into  the 

background. 

Wallenstein  sitting  at  a  table.     The  Swedish  Captain 

standing  before  him 

WALLENSTEIN 

Conimend  mo  to  your  lord.    I  aympathize 


SC.  111.]  THE    DEATH    OF    WAIXEXSTElN.  291 

In  liis  good  fortune  ;  and  if  you  have  seen  me 

Deficient  in  the  expressions  of  that  joy. 

"Which  such  a  victoiy  might  well  demand, 

Attribute  it  to  no  lack  of  good  will, 

For  henceforth  are  our  fortunes  one.     Fare\Yell. 

And  for  your  trouble  take  my  thanks.     To-morrow 

The  citadel  shall  be  sm-render"d  to  you 

On  vour  arrival. 

'  [The  Swedish  Captain  retires.  Wallensteix  sits 
lost  in  thought,  his  exjes  fixed  vacantly,  and  his 
head  sustained  by  his  hand.  The  Countess 
Terzky  enters,  stands  before  him  for  awhile,  un- 
observed by  him  ;  at  length  he  starts,  sees  her  a7id 
recollects  himself 

WAXLENSTEIK. 

Comest  thou  from  her  ?     Is  she  restored  ?     How  is  sho  ? 

COUNTESS. 

My  sister  tells  me,  she  was  more  collected 
After  her  conversation  with  the  Swede. 
She  has  now  retu-ed  to  rest. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  pang  will  softeu, 
\5he  will  shed  tears. 

COUNTESS. 

I  find  thee  alter'd  too, 
My  brother  !     After  such  a  victoiy 
I  had  expected  to  have  found  in  thee 
A  cheerful  spirit.     0  remain  thou  firm  ! 
Sustam,  uphold  us  !     For  our  light  thou  art, 
Our  sun. 

WAELENSTEIN. 

Be  qmet.     I  ail  nothing.     Where's 
Thy  husband  ? 

COUNTESS 

At  a  banquet — he  and  lllo. 
WAIXENSTEIN  {vises  and  strides  across  the  saloon). 
The  night's  far  spent.     Betake  thee  to  thy  chamber. 

COUNTESS. 

Bid  me  not  go,  O  let  me  stay  with  thee  I 

IT  2 


292  THE    DEATH    OK   W.VLI.ENSTEIN.  [acT  V. 

WALLEXSTEiN  [movcs  to  the  window). 
There  is  a  busy  motion  in  the  Heaven, 
The  wind  doth  chase  the  flag  upon  the  tower, 
Fast  sweep  the  clouds,  the  sickle  ■■'  of  the  muou, 
Straggling,  darts  snatches  of  uncertain  light 
Ko  form  of  star  is  visible  !     That  one 
White  stain  of  light,  that  single  glimmering  yonder, 
Is  from  Cassiopeia,  and  therein 
Is  Jupiter.     [A  pause).     But  now 
The  blackness  of  the  troubled  element  hides  him  I 

[hie  sinks  into  jyrofound  melanchobj,  and  looks 
vacanthj  into  the  distance. 
COUNTESS  {looks  OH  him  mournfully,  then  grasps  his  hand). 
What  art  thou  brooding  on  ? 

WALLENSTEIX. 

Methinks, 
If  [  but  saw  him,  'twould  be  well  with  me. 
IJe  is  the  star  of  my  nativity. 
And  often  marvellously  hath  his  aspect 
Shot  strength  into  my  heart. 

COUNTESS. 

Thou'lt  see  him  again. 
WAT-I.ENSTKIN  {remains  for  a  while  with  absent  mind,  thru  a9- 
smnes   a  livelier   manner,   and    turning   suddenly    to    the 
Countess). 
See  him  again  ?     0  never,  never  again ! 

•  These  four  lines  are  expressed  in  the  origiriiil  with  exquisite  felicity 
Am  Himniel  ist  geschaftige  Bewegung. 
Des  Thunnes  Fahne  jagt  der  Wind,  schncll  geht 
Der  Wolkeii  Zug,  die  Mondessichd  wankt, 
Und  durch  die  Nacht  zuckt  ungewisse  Ilelle. 
The  word  "  raonn-sickle,"  reminds  me  of  a  passage  in    Harris,  as  quote*, 
hy  Johnson,   under   the   word  "  falcated."     "  The  enlightened   part  of  the 
iiioon  appears  in  the  form  of  a  sickle  or  reaping-hook,  which  is  while  she  ia 
moving  from  the  conjunction  to  the  opposition,  or  from  the  new  moon  to  the 
lull :  but  from  full  to  a  new  again,  the  enlightened  part  appears  gibbous,  and 
the  dark/a/catec/." 

The  words  "  wanken  "  and  "  schweben  "  are  not  easily  translated.  Tiia 
English  words,  by  which  we  attempt  to  render  them,  are  either  vulgar  or  pe- 
dantic, or  not  of  sufficiently  general  application.  So  "der  Wolken  Zug" — 
The  Draft,  the  Proccsiion  of  clouds.— The  Masses  of  the  Clouds  sweep  on- 
ward in  swift  stream. 


6C.   III.]  THE    DEATH   OF  WALTENSTEIS-  293 

COUNTESS 

How  ? 

WALLENSTETN. 

He  is  gone — is  dust. 

COTJKTESS. 

"Whom  meanest  thou,  then  ? 
WALLE^'STEI^^ 
He,  the  more  fortunate !  yea,  he  hath  fiuish'd  ! 
For  him  there  is  no  longer  any  future. 
His  life  is  bright— bright  without  spot  it  nas. 
And  cannot  cease  to  be.     No  ominous  hour 
knocks  at  his  door  with  tidings  of  mishap, 
Far  off  is  he,  above  desire  and  fear  ; 
No  more  submitted  to  the  change  and  chanee 
Of  the  unsteady  planets.     0  'tis  well 
With  him  !  but  who  knows  what  the  comnig  hour 
YeiVd  in  thick  darkness  brings  for  us? 

COUNTESS. 

Thou  speakest 
Of  Piccolomini.     What  was  his  death  ? 
The  courier  had  just  left  thee  as  1  came. 

[Wallenstein  bij  a  motion  of  his  hand  makes  signs  to 
her  to  he  silent. 
Turn  not  thine  eyes  upon  the  backward  view, 
Let  us  look  forward  into  sunny  days, 
Welcome  with  joyous  heart  the  victoiT, 
Forget  what  it  has  cost  thee.     Not  to-day, 
For°the  first  time,  thy  friend  was  to  thee  dead ; 
To  thee  he  died,  when  first  he  parted  from  thee 

WAT  LENSTEIN. 

This  anf^uish  will  be  wearied  down*,  I  kuow ; 

What  pang  is  permanent  with  man?     From  the  highest, 

As  from  the  vilest  thing  of  every  day. 

He  learns  to  wean  himself:  for  the  strong  hours 

•  A  very  inadequate  translation  of  the  original : — 

Verschmerzen  werd'  ich  diesen  Schlag,  das  weiss  icli, 
Denn  was  verschmerzte  nicht  der  Mensct ! 

IITERALLT. 

I  shall  grieve  down  this  blow,  of  that  I'm  conscious  : 
\Yhat  does  not  man  grieve  do^\•n  ] 


294  THE   DEATH   OF   WAIJ-ENSTEIN.  [acT 

Conquer  bim.     Yet  I  feel  what  I  have  lost 
In  him.     The  bloom  is  vanish 'cl  from  my  life 
For  0  !  he  stood  beside  me,  like  mj'  youth, 
Transform 'd  for  me  the  real  to  a  dream, 
Clothing  the  palpable  and  the  familiar 
Witli  golden  exhalations  of  the  dawn. 
"\Miatever  fortunes  wait  my  future  toils, 
The  beautiful  is  vanisli'd  — and  returns  not. 

COUNTESS. 

0  be  not  treacherous  to  thy  own  power. 
Thy  heart  is  rich  enough  to  vivify 
Itself.     Thou  lovest  and  prizest  virtues  in  him, 
The  which  thyself  didst  plant,  thyself  unfold. 
WAF.LF.NSTEiN  [stepping  to  the  door). 
WTio  interrupts  us  now  at  this  late  hour  ? 
It  is  the  Governor.     He  brings  the  keys 
Of  the  Citadel.     Tis  midnight.     Leave  me,  sister! 

COUNTESS. 

0  'tis  so  hard  to  me  this  night  to  leave  thee — 
A  boding  fear  possesses  me  ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Fear !  Wherefore  ? 

COUNTESS. 

Shouldst  tliou  depart  this  night,  and  we  at  waking 
Never  more  find  thee  ! 

WATXENSTETN. 

Fancies ! 

COUNTESS. 

0  my  soul 
Has  long  been  weigliVl  down  by  these  dark  forebodings 
And  if  1  combat  and  repel  them  waking. 
They  still  crush  down  upon  my  heart  in  dreams 

1  saw  thee  yesternight  with  thy  first  wife 
Sit  at  a  banquet,  gorgeously  attired. 

WAT.LENSTEIN. 

This  was  a  dream  of  favouraljle  omen, 

Tliat  marriage  being  the  founder  of  my  fortunes. 

COUNTESS. 

To-day  I  dreamt  that  I  was  seeking  thee 
In  thy  own  chamber      As  I  enter'd.  lo  ! 


SC.  III.l  ™E    DEATH    OF   WALLENSTEIN.  2    O 

It  was  DO  more  a  chamber  :  the  Chartreuse 

At  Gitschin  "twas,  which  thou  thyself  hast  lounded. 

And  where  it  is  thy  will  that  thou  should'st  bo 

Interr'd. 

WALLENSTETX. 

Thy  soul  is  busy  with  these  thoughts 

COUNTESS. 

What !  dost  thou  not  believe  that  oft  in  dreams 
A  voice  of  warning  speaks  prophetic  to  us  ? 

WALLENSTEIX 

There  is  no  doubt  that  there  exist  such  voices 
Yet  I  would  not  call  them 
Voices  of  warning  that  announce  to  us 
Onlv  the  inevitable.     As  the  sun, 
Ere"  it  is  risen,  sometimes  paints  its  nnage 
In  the  atmosphere,  so  often  do  the  spu'its 
Of  great  events  stride  on  before  the  events. 
And  in  to-dav  already  walks  to-morrow.  _ 

That  which  we  read  of  the  fourth  Henrj-  s  deai.o 
Did  ever  vex  and  haunt  me  like  a  tale 
Of  my  own  future  destiny.     The  king 
Felt  in  his  breast  the  phantom  of  the  knife, 
Loner  ere  Ravaillac  arm'd  himself  therewitli. 
His  Vi*^t  mind  forsook  him  :  the  phantasma 
Started  him  in  his  Louvre,  chased  him  forth 
Into  the  open  air :  like  funeral  knells 
Sounded  that  coronation  festival ;  ^ 

And  still  with  boding  sense  he  heard  tne  tread 
Of  those  feet  that  even  then  were  seelung  him 
Throughout  the  streets  of  Paris. 

COUNTESS. 

And  to  tliee 
The  voice  within  thy  soul  bodes  nothing? 

WALLENSTEIN 

Nothiig 
Be  wholly  tranquil. 

COUNTESS. 

And  another  time 
I  hasten'd  after  thee,  and  thou  rannst  from_  me 
Throu<^h  a  long  suite,  through  many  a  spacious  ImlJ. 
Therc^seem-d  vo  end  of  it :  doors  creak'd  and  ciiippu; 


-^^  THE  DEATH    OF    WAI.LENSTEIN  [aCT   V. 

I  follow'd  panting,  but  could  not  o'ertakc  thee  ; 

When  on  a  siulden  did  I  feel  myself 

Grasp'd  from  behind — the  liand  was  cold  that  grasped  mc — 

Twas  thou,  and  thcu  didst  kiss  me,  and  there  scem'd 

A  crimson  covering  to  envelop  us. 

WALLENSTEIX. 

That  is  the  crimson  tapestry  of  my  chamber 

COUNTESS  [rfiiziiiff  on  liiui). 
]f  it  should  come  to  that — if  I  should  see  thee, 
"Who  standest  now  before  me  in  the  fulness 
Of  life —  [She  falls  on  his  breast  and  iceept 

WALLENSTEIX. 

The  Emperor's  proclamation  weighs  upon  thee — 
Alphabets  wound  not — and  he  finds  no  hands. 

COUNTESS. 

If  he  should  find  them,  my  resolve  is  taken — 
I  bear  about  me  my  support  and  refuge. 

[Exit  Countess. 

Scene  IV. 
Wallenstein,  Gordon 
wallenstein. 
All  quiet  in  the  town  ? 

GORDON. 

The  town  is  quiet. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I  hear  a  boisteronr,  music  !  and  the  Castle 
Is  lighted  up.     Who  are  the  revellers  ? 

GORDON. 

There  is  a  banquet  given  at  the  Castle 

To  the  Count  Terzkj,  and  Field  Marshal  Illo, 

WAM.ENSTEIN 

In  honour  of  the  victory — This  tribe 

Can  show  their  joy  in  nothing  else  but  feasting. 

[Rings.     The  Groom  of  the  Chamber  enters 
Unrobe  me.     I  will  lay  me  down  to  sleep. 

[Wau^enstein  takes  the  keys  from  GoBDON 
So  we  are  guarded  from  all  enemies, 
And  shut  in  with  sure  friends 


SC.  IV,] 


THE    DEATH    OF    WALLESSTSIN.  -97 


For  all  must  cheat  me,  or  a  face  like  this 

[Fixing  his  eye  on  Uordcx 

Was  ne'er  a  hypocrite's  mask. 

[The  Groom  of  the  Chambeh  talces  off  his  ma.itle, 
collar,  and  scarf 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Take  care— -what  is  that? 

GROOM  OF  THE  CHAMBER. 

The  golden  chain  is  snapped  in  two. 

WALLENSTEIX. 

Well,  it  has  lasted  long  enough.     Here— give  it. 

[He  takes  and  looks  at  the  chain 

Twas  the  first  present  of  the  Emperor. 

He  hung  it  round  me  in  the  war  of  Friule,    _ 

He  being  then  Archduke  :  and  I  have  worn  it 

Till  now  from  habit 

From  superstition,  if  you  will.     Belike, 

It  was  to  be  a  talisman  to  me  ;     _ 

And  while  I  wore  it  on  my  neck  in  faith, 

It  was  to  chain  to  me  all  my  hfe  long 

The  volatile  fortune,  whose  first  pledge  it  was. 

Well  be  it  so  !  Hencefonvard  a  new  fortune 

Must  spring  up  for  me ;  for  the  potency 

Of  this  charm  is  dissolved. 

[Groom  of  the  Chamber  retires  icith  the  vestments 
Wallenstein  rises,  takes  a  stride  across  the  room, 
and  stands  at  last  before  Gordon  in  a  posture  oj 
meditation. 
How  the  old  time  returns  upon  me !  1 
Behold  mvself  once  more  at  Burgau,  where 
We  two  were  Pages  of  the  Court  together 
We  oftentimes  disputed  :  thy  intention 
Was  ever  good  ;  but  thou  wert  wont  to  plav 
The  Moralist  and  Preacher,  and  wouldst  rail  at  me-  - 
That  I  strove  after  things  too  high  for  me, 
Giving  my  faith  to  bold  unlawful  dreams, 
And  still  extol  to  me  the  golden  mean 
—Thy  wisdom  hath  been  proved  a  thriftless  friend 
To  thy  own  self.     See,  it  has  made  thee  early 
A  superannuated  man,  and  (but 


298  THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN.         [ACT  V. 

That  my  munificent  stars  will  intervene) 
Would  let  thee  in  some  miserable  corner 
Go  out  like  an  untended  lamp. 

GORDOX 

My  Prince ! 
With  light  heart  the  poor  fislier  moors  his  boat, 
And  -watches  from  the  shore  the  lofty  ship 
Stranded  amid  the  storm. 

WALLEXSTEIX. 

Art  thou  already 
In  harbour  then,  old  man  ?     Well !    I  am  not 
The  unconquer'd  spirit  drives  me  o'er  life's  billows; 
My  planks  still  firm,  my  canvas  swelling  proudly. 
Hope  is  my  goddess  still,  and  Youth  my  inmate; 
And  while  we  stand  thus  front  td  front  almost 
I  might  presume  to  say,  that  the  swift  years 
Have  passed  by  powerless  o'er  my  unblanched  hair. 

[He  moves  ivith  lonrj  striLles  (icross  the  Saloon,  ttitii 
remains  on  tlie  opposite  side  over  ajaiiut  Gokdos. 
Who  now  persists  in  calling  Fortune  false? 
To  me  she  has  proved  faithful ;  with  fond  love 
Took  me  from  out  the  common  ranks  of  men, 
And  like  a  mother  goddess,  with  strong  arm 
Carried  me  swiftly  up  the  steps  of  life. 
Nothing  is  common  in  my  destiny, 
Nor  in  the  furrows  of  my  hand.     Who  dares 
Interpret  then  my  life  for  me  as  'twere 
One  of  the  undistinguishable  many? 
True,  in  this  present  moment  T  appear 
Fallen  low  indeed ;  but  I  shall  rise  ag;iin. 
The  high  flood  will  soon  follow  on  this  ebb ; 
Ihe  fountain  of  my  fortune,  wliich  now  stops 
Repress  d  and  bound  by  some  malicious  star 
Will  soon  in  joy  play  forth  from  all  its  pipes. 

GORDOX. 

And  yet  remember  ]  the  good  old  proverb, 
"  Let  the  night  come  before  we  praise  the  day." 
I  would  be  slow  from  long-continued  fortune 
To  gather  hope:  for  Hope  is  the  comjianion 
Given  to  the  unfortunate  by  pitying  Heaven. 


SC.  v.]  THE   DEITH    OF   WALT.EKSTEIK  299 

Fear  hovers  round  the  head  of  prosperous  men 
For  still  unsteady  are  the  scales  of  fate. 
WAT.LENSTEix  [smiUng). 
I  hear  the  veiy  Gordon  that  of  old 
Was  wont  to  preach,  now  once  more  preaching ; 
I  know  well,  that  all  sublunary  things 
Are  still  the  vassals  of  vicissitude.  _ 
The  unpropitious  gods  demand  their  tribute 
This  lom^  ago  the  ancient  Pagans  knew : 
And  therefore  of  their  own  accord  they  offer  a 
To  themselves  injuries,  so  to  atone 
The  jealousv  of  tlieir  divinities : 
And'human  sacrifices  bled  to  Typhon. 

[After  a  pause,  serious,  and  in  a  more  subdued  manner. 
I  too  have  sacrificed  to  him— I  or  me 
There  fell  the  dearest  friend,  and  through  my  fault 
He  fell !  No  joy  from  favourable  fortune 
Can  overweigh  die  anguish  of  this  stroke 
The  envv  of' mv  destiny  is  glutted :  _ 

Life  pavs  for  life.     On  his  pure  head  the  lightning 
Was  dra^^-n  off  which  would  else  have  shatter  d  me 

Scene  V 
To  these  enter  Seni. 

WALLENSTEIX. 

Is  not  that  Seni !  and  beside  himself,  _ 

If  one  may  trust  his  looks  ?     What  brings  thee  hither 
At  this  late  hour,  Baptista? 

SEXT. 

Terror,  Duke! 
On  thy  account. 

WALLEN  STEIN. 

What  now  ? 

SENI 

Flee  ere  the  day  'orcak ! 
Trust  not  thy  person  to  the  Swedes  ! 

WAIXEXSTEIN. 

Wliat  now 
Is  in  thv  thoughts 


300  THE    DEATH    OF   WATXENSTEIN  [aCT  V. 

SENi  (icith  louder  voice). 
Trust  not  tliy  person  to  the  Swedes. 

WALT.ENSTEIN. 

What  is  it,  tlien? 
SENI  (still  more  urgently). 

0  wait  not  the  arrival  of  these  Swedes  I 
An  evil  near  at  hand  is  threatening  thee 

From  false  friends.     All  the  signs  stand  full  of  horror! 
Near,  near  at  hand  the  net-work  of  perdition — 
Yea,  even  now  'tis  being  cast  around  thee  ! 

WALI.ENSTEIN. 

Baptista,  thou  art  dreaming ! — Fear  befools  thee. 

SENT. 

Believe  not  that  an  empty  fear  deludes  me. 
Come,  read  it  in  the  planetary  aspects ; 
Eead  it  thyself,  that  ruin  threatens  thee 
From  false  friends. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

From  the  falseness  of  my  friends 
Has  risen  the  whole  of  my  unprosperous  fortunes. 
The  warning  should  have  come  before !     At  present 

1  need  no  revelation  from  the  stars 
To  know  that 

SENT. 

Come  and  see!  trust  tliine  own  eyes 
A  fearful  sign  stands  in  the  house  of  life — 
An  enemy ;  a  fiend  lurks  close  behind 
The  radiance  of  thy  planet. — 0  be  warn'd ! 
Deliver  not  up  thyself  to  these  heathens. 
To  wage  a  war  against  our  holy  church. 

WALLENSTEIN   [lailf/hiuff  fieiillyj. 

The  oracle  rails  that  way  !     Yes,  yes  !     Now 
1  recollect.     This  junction  with  the  Swedes 
Did  never  please  tliee — lay  thyself  to  sleep, 
Baptista !     Signs  like  these  I  do  not  fear. 
iORDON  {ivho  during  the  uhole  of  this  dialogue  has  shown  marks 
of  extreme  agitation,  and  now  turns  to  w.vllenstein). 
My  Duke  and  General !   May  I  dare  presume  ? 

WALLENSTEIN 

Speak  freely 


^.  v.]         THE  DEATH  OF  WALLESSTElS'.  301 

GOUDON. 

"What  if  'twere  no  mere  creation 
Of  fear,  if  God's  high  providence  vouchsafed 
To  interpose  its  aid  for  your  deliverance, 
And  made  that  mouth  its  organ? 

WALLE^•sTEI^^  .  ,  . 

Ye're  both  fevensu! 

How  can  mishap  come  to  me  from  the  Swedes '. 
They  sought  this  junction  v;ith  me-tis  their  mterest. 

GORDON  (idth  cUlftcuItij  siipprer^sing  his  emotion). 
But  what  if  the  arrival  of  these  Swedes— 
What  if  this  were  the  very  thing  that  wnig  d 
The  ruin  that  is  flyhig  to  your  temples?  ,.,;■.,, 

'  [Flnujs  hunselj  at  hn  iSit 

There  is  yet  time,  my  Prince 

SENT.  . 

0  hear  him '.  hear  Ir.n:  I 
GORDON  {rises). 

The  Rhinegrave's  still  far  off.     Give  hut  the  orders. 

This  citadel  shall  close  its  gates  upon  hmi. 

If  then  he  will  besiege  us,  let  hun  try  it.    _ 

But  this  I  sav ;  hell  find  his  own  destruction 

With  his  whole  force  before  these  ramparts,  sooner 

Than  weary  down  the  valour  of  our  spirit. 

He  shall  experience  what  a  band  of  heroes, 

Insinrited  by  an  heroic  leader, 

Is  able  to  perform.     And  if  indeed 

It  be  thv  serious  wish  to  make  amend 

For  that  which  thou  hast  done  amiss,— this,  tliis 

Will  touch  and  reconcile  the  Emperor, 
Who  "ladly  turns  his  heart  to  thoughts  ot  mercy  ; 
\nd  Friedland,  who  returns  repentant  to  hun. 
Will  stand  yet  higher  in  his  Emperor  s  favour. 
Than  e'er  he  stood  when  he  had  never  iallen 
WVLLENSTEIN  {contemplates  him  icith  surprise,  rrwai;.:^ 
au-hile,  hetrai/vKj  strong  emotion). 
Gordon— your  zeal  and  fervour  lead  you  far 
Well   well— an  old  friend  has  a  privilege. 
Blood,  Gordon,  has  been  flowing.     >ever,  never 
Can  the  Emperor  pardon  me:  and  it  he  cou.d. 


302  THE   DEATH   OF   WAU..ENSTEIN.  [aCT  V. 

Yet  I — I  ne'er  could  let  myself  b«  pardon'd. 

Had  I  foreknown  what  now  has  taken  place, 

That  he,  my  dearest  friend,  would  fall  for  me 

My  I'nsl  dealh-ofiermg ;  and  had  the  heart 

Spdlan  to  me,  as  now  it  has  done — Gordon, 

It  may  be,  I  might  have  bethought  myself 

It  may  be  too,  I  might  not.     Might  or  might  not 

Is  now  an  idle  question.     All  too  seriously 

Has  it  begun  to  end  in  nothing,  Gordon  ! 

Let  it  then  have  its  course.  [Stepping  to  the  loindow. 

All  dark  and  silent — at  the  castle  too 

All  is  now  hush'd — Light  me,  Chambei'lain  ! 

[The  Groom  of  the  Chamber,  who  had  entered  dur- 
ing the  last  dialogue,  and  had  been  standing  at  a 
distance  and  listening  to  it  with  visible  expressions 
of  the  deepest  interest,  advances  in  extreme  agita- 
tion, and  throivs  himself  at  the  Duke's  feet. 

And  thou  too !     But  I  know  why  thou  dost  wish 

My  reconcijemeut  with  the  Emperor. 

Poor  man  !  he  hath  a  small  estate  in  Carinthia, 

And  fears  it  will  be  forfeited  because 

He's  in  my  sersice.     Am  I  then  so  poor 

That  I  no  longer  can  indemnify 

My  servants  ?     Well !  to  no  one  I  employ 

Means  of  compulsion.     If  'tis  thy  belief 

That  fortune  has  fled  from  me,  go  !  forsake  me. 

This  night  for  the  last  time  mayst  thou  unrobe  mo, 

And  then  go  over  to  tliy  Emperor. 

Gordon,  good  iiight!  I  think  to  make  a  long 

Sleep  of  it :  for  the  struggle  and  the  turmoil 

Of  this  last  day  or  two  was  great.     May't  please  you  ? 

Take  care  that  they  awake  me  not  too  early. 

[Exit  Wallensteix,  the  Groom  of  the  Ch/.mbeb 
lighting  him.  Seni  follows,  Gordon  remains  ou 
the  darkened  stage,  folloiving  the  Duke  with  his 
ege,  till  he  disapj^cars  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
gallery:  then  by  his  gestures  the  old  man  exj^-ess^-^ 
the  depth  of  his  anguish  and  stands  leaning 
against  a  pillar 


^^  YI.I  THE   DEATH   OF   WALLEK3TE1N 

Scene  VI 
GoKDON,  BuTi,ER  [(itj'.rst  behind  the  scenes). 
BUTLER  {not  yet  come  into  view  of  the  stage]. 
Here  stand  in  silence  till  I  give  the  signal. 

GORDON  [starts  up). 
'Tis  he !  he  has  already  brought  the  murderers. 

BUTLER, 

The  lights  are  out      All  lies  in  profound  sleep. 

GORDON. 

What  shall  I  do,  shall  I  attempt  to  save  him| 
Shall  I  call  up  the  house?  alarm  the  guards . 

BUTLER  {appears,  hut  scarcely  on  the  stage). 
A  liwht  gleams  hither  from  the  corridor. 
It  kads  directly  to  the  Duke's  bed-chamber. 

GORDON. 

But  then  I  break  my  oath  to  the  Emperor; 
If  he  escape  and  strengthen  the  enemy, 
Do  I  not  hereby  call  down  on  my  head 
All  the  dread  consequences  ? 

BUTLER  [stejjjnug  foncard). 

Hark !     AVho  speaks  there  ? 

GORDON. 

Tis  better,  I  resign  it  to  the  hands 
Of  Providence.     For  what  am  I,  that  I 
Should  take  upon  myself  so  great  a  deed^ 
I  have  not  murdered  him,  if  he  be  murder  d ; 
But  all  his  rescue  were  vuj  act  and  deed ; 
Mine— and  whatever  be  the  consequences, 
I  mi;st  sustain  them. 

BUTiJiR  {advances). 

I  should  know  that  voice 

GORDON. 

Butler ! 

BUTLER 

'Tis  Gordon.     What  do  you  want  here? 
Was  k  so  late  then,  when  the  Duke  dismiss'd  you: 

GORDON. 

Your  hand  bound  up  and  in  a  scarf'? 


303 


304  THE   DEATH   OF   WALLENSTEIN.  [aCT  V. 

BUTLER. 

'Tis  wouuded. 
That  I  Ho  fought  as  he  were  frantic,  till 
At  l;ist  we  threw  him  on  the  ground. 

GORDON  (shuddering). 

Both  dead  ? 

BUTLER. 

Is  he  in  bed  ? 

GORDON. 

Ah,  Butler ! 

BUTLER. 

Js  he?  speak. 

GORDON. 

He  shall  not  perish !     Not  through  you !     The  Heaven 
Refuses  your  arm.     See — 'tis  wounded  I — 

BUTLER. 

There  is  no  need  of  my  arm 

GORDON. 

The  most  guilty 
Have  perish'd,  and  enough  is  given  to  justice. 

[The  Groom  of  tee  Chamber  advances  from  the 
Gallery  with  his  finger  on  his  mouth  commanding 
silence. 

GORDON. 

He  sleeps !     0  murder  not  the  holy  sleep  ! 

BUTLEB. 

No  !  he  shall  die  awake.  [Is  going, 

GORDON 

His  heart  still  cleaves 
To  earthly  things :  he's  not  prepared  to  step 
Into  the  presence  of  his  God ! 

BUTLER  [going). 

God's  merciful  I 

GORDON  [holds  him). 
Grant  him  but  this  night's  respite. 

BUTLEB  {hurrying  off). 

The  next  moment 
May  ruii:  ail. 


aC.  VII.l  THE  DEATH    0^    WALLENSTEIN.  305 

GORDON  (holds  him  still) 
One  hour ! 

SUTLER. 

Uuhold  me  i     Whai 
Can  that  short  respite  profit  him  ? 

GORDON. 

O— Time 
Works  miracles.     In  one  hour  many  thousands 
Of  grains  of  sand  run  out ;  and  quick  as  they. 
Thought  follows  thought  within  the  human  soul. 
Only  one  hour !     Your  heart  may  change  its  purpose. 
His  heart  may  change  its  purpose— some  new  tidings 
May  come  ;  some  fortunate  event,  decisive. 
May  fall  from  Heaven  and  rescue  him.     0  what 
May  not  one  hour  achieve  ! 

BUTLER. 

You  but  remind  mo, 

IIow  precious  every  minute  is ! 

[He  stamps  on  the  jlocyt 

Scene  VII. 
To  these  enter  Macdonald  and  Devereux,  with  the  Hal- 
berdiers. 

GORDON  {throwing  himself  between  him  and  them). 

No,  monster ! 
First  over  my  dead  body  thou  shalt  tread. 
I  will  not  live  to  see  the  accursed  deed ! 

BUTLEB  {forcing  him  out  of  the  way). 
Weak-hearted  dotard ! 

[Trumpets  are  heard  in  the  distance 

DEVEREUX  and  MACD0NAIJ3. 

Hark !     The  Swedish  trumpets  ! 
The  Swedes  before  the  ramparts  !     Let  us  hasten ! 

GORDON  {rushes  out). 
0,  God  of  mercy ! 

BUTLER  {calling  after  him). 
Governor,  to  yovu-  post ! 
GROOM  OF  THE  CHAMBER  {hurries  in). 
Who  dares  make  larum  here  ?    Hush !     The  Duke  sloepB 

X 


30G  THE  DEATH  OF  WALLENSTEIN.         [ACC  V 

DEVEREUX  {ivitJi  loud  harsh  voice). 
Friend,  it  is  time  now  to  make  larum. 

GBOOM    OF   THE    CHAMBER. 

Help! 
Murder ! 

BUTLER. 

Down  with  him ! 
G300.M  OF  THE  CHAMBER  [rxin  through  the  body  by  ueverkdx, 
falls  at  the  entrance  of  the  Gallery). 

Jesus  Maria 

BUTLER. 

rSarst  the  doors  open. 

[They  rush  over  the  body  into  the  Gallery — two  doors  are 
heard  to  crash  one  after  the  other. — Voices,  deadened 
by  the  distance — clash  of  arms — then  all  at  once  a  pro- 
found silence 


Scene  VIII 

COUNTESS  TERZKY  {with  a  light). 
Her  bed-chamber  is  empty  ;  she  herself 
Is  nowhere  to  be  found  !     The  Neubrunn  too, 
"Who  watch 'd  by  her,  is  missing.     If  she  should 

Be  flown ■  but  whither  flown  ?     We  must  call  up 

Every'  soul  in  the  house.     How  will  the  Duke 

Bear  up  against  these  worst  bad  tidings  ?     O 

If  that  my  husband  now  were  but  retum'd 

Home  from  the  banquet  I — Hark !     I  wonder  whether 

The  Duke  is  still  awake !     I  thought  I  heard 

Voices  and  tread  of  feet  here  !     I  will  go 

And  listen  at  the  door.     Hark  !  what  is  that  ? 

Tis  hastening  up  tlie  steps  ! 

Scene  IX. 

Countess,  Gordon. 

OORDON  {rushes  in  out  of  breath). 
'Tis  a  mistake  I 
Tis  not  the  Swedes — Ye  must  proceed  no  further- 
Butler! — 0  God  !  where  is  he  ? 


jjC.  X.J  THE   DEATH   OF   AVALLENSTEIN.  307 

goudon  {observing  the  countess). 

Countess!   Say 

COUNTESS. 

You  are  come  then  from  the  castle  ?   Where's  my  I'.u.hiina  l 

GORDON  (m  an  agonxj  of  affright). 
Your  husband  !— Ask  not  1— To  the  Duke 

COUNTESS. 

Xot  tU! 
You  have  discover'd  to  me 

GORDON 

On  this  moment 
Does  the  world  hang.     For  God's  sake  !  to  the  Duke. 

While  we  are  speaking [Calling  loiidhj 

Butler!  Butler!  God! 

COUNTESS. 

Why,  he  is  at  the  castle  with  my  husband. 

[BuTLEK  comes Jrom  the  LrUAcrj 

GORDON. 

'Twas  a  mistake— Tis  not  the  Swedes— it  is 
The  Imperialists'  Lieutenant-General 
Has  sent  me  hither— vrill  be  here  himself 
Instantly. — You  must  not  proceed. 

BUTLER. 

He  comes 
Too  late.  [Gordon  dashes  himself  agamst  the  ijall 

GORDON. 

O  God  of  mercy ! 

COUNTESS 

AVhat  too  late  ? 
Who  will  be  here  himself?  Octavio 
In  E^ra?  Treason!  Treason  !— Where's  the  Duke? 

°  [She  rushes  to  the  Gallery 

Scene  X. 

■:>Tvants  run  acoss  the  Stage  full  of  terror.     The  whole  Sccut 
must  be  spoken  entirely  without  pauses). 
SENT  {from  the  Gallery) 
0  bloody  frightful  deed  !  ^  2 


308  THE   DKATH   OF  WALLENSTEIN.  [acT  V. 

COUiNTESS. 

Whai  is  it,  Seni? 
PAGE  {from  the  Gallery). 
0  piteous  sight ! 

[Other  Servants  hasten  in  with  torchet 

COUNTESS 

What  is  it  ?  For  God's  sake ! 

SENI. 

And  do  you  ask  ? 
Within,  the  Duke  lies  murdcr'd — and  your  husband 
Assassinated  at  the  Castle. 

[The  C(»UNTEss  stands  motionless. 
FEMALE  SERVANT  [rushijig  ucvoss  the  Stage). 
Help  !  help  !  the  Duchess  ! 

BUHGOMASTEK  {enters). 

What  mean  theae  confused 
Loud  cries,  that  wake  the  sleepers  of  this  house? 

GORDON. 

Your  house  is  cursed  to  all  eternity. 
In  your  house  doth  the  Duke  lie  murder'd  ! 
BURGOMASTER  {rushing  out). 

Heaven  forbid ! 

FIRST   SERVANT. 

Fly  !  fly  !  they  murder  us  all ! 

SECOND  SERVANT  {carrying  silver  plate). 

That  way !  the  lower 
Passages  are  block'd  up. 

VOICE  {from  behind  the  Scene). 
Make  room  for  the  Lieutenant-General ! 

[At  these  words  the  Countess  starts  from  her  stupor,  coir 
lects  herself,  and  retires  suddenly. 

VOICE  {from  behind  the  Sce>id) 
Keep  back  the  people !     Guard  the  door ! 

Scene  XI. 
I'o  these  enter  OcTAvno  Piccolomini  u-ith  all  his  train  At 
the  same  time  Dkveheux  and  Macdonald  eiHer  from  out 
the  Corridor  with  the  Halberdiers. — Wallenstein's  drad 
btdy  is  carried  over  the  back  part  of  the  Stage,  wrapped  in  a 
piece  of  crimson  tupcutry. 

ocTAVio  [entering  abruptly) 
It  must  not  be  !  It  is  not  possible ! 


SC.  XI.J  THE   DEATH   OP   WALLENSTEIN  309 

Butler!  Gordon! 

I'll  not  believe  it.     Say  no  !  , .   t     j  *    *?. 

[GoEDON,  xcithout  answermg,  points  tnth  his  hayidto  IM 
bodij  of  Wallekstein  as  it  is  carried  over  the  back  of 
the  stage.  Octavio  looks  that  ivay,  and  stai^ds  over- 
poicered  uith  horror. 

DEVEREUX  (to  BUTLER). 

Here  is  the  golden  fleece— the  Duke's  sword— 

MACDONALD. 

Is  it  your  order — 

BUTLER  {pointing  to  octavio). 
Here  stands  he  who  now 
Hath  the  sole  power  to  issue  orders.  _ 

rDEVEREUXa»rf  Macdoxald  retire  with  marks  of  ooet st- 
ance.    One  drops  aicay  after  the  other,  till  only  Bui^ 
LER,  OcTA^^o,  and  Gordon,  remain  on  the  Stage 
OCTAVIO  {turning  to  btttler). 
Was  that  my  purpose,  Butler,  ^vhen  we  parted? 
O  God  of  Justice ! 

To  thee  I  lift  my  hand !  I  am  not  guilty 
Of  this  foul  deed 

BUTLER. 

Your  hand  is  pure      You  have 
Avail 'd  yourself  of  mine. 

OCTAVIO 

]\[erciless  man! 
Thus  to  abuse  the  orders  of  thy  Lord— 
And  stain  thy  Emperor's  holy  name  with  murder, 
With  bloody,  most  accursed  assassination  ! 

BUTLER  (calmly). 
I've  but  fulfilled  the  Emperor's  own  sentence 

OCTAVIO. 

0  curse  of  Kings, 

Infusing  a  dread  life  into  their  words. 

And  linldng  to  the  sudden  transient  thought 

The  unchanging  irrevocable  deed. 

Was  there  necessity  for  such  an  eager 

Despatch?     Couldst  thou  not  grant  the  merciful 

A  time  for  mercy?     Time  is  man's  good  Angel. 


310  THE   DEATH   OF   WATXEKSTKIN.  [aCT  V. 

To  leave  no  interval  between  the  sentence, 
And  the  fulfilment  of  it,  doth  heseem 
God  only,  the  immutable  ! 

BUTLER. 

For  vhat 
Rail  you  against  me?     What  is  my  cffenco? 
The  JEmpire  from  a  fearful  enemy 
Have  I  deliver'd,  and  expect  reward. 
The  single  difference  betwixt  you  and  me 
Is  this  :  you  placed  the  arrow  in  the  bow  : 
1  puird  tiic  string.     You  sow'd  blood,  and  yet  star.d 
Astonish'd  that  blood  is  come  up.     I  always 
Knew  what  I  did,  and  therefore  no  result 
Hath  power  to  frighten  or  surprise  my  spirit 
Have  you  aught  else  to  order;  for  this  instant 
.1  make  my  best  speed  to  Vienna ;  place 
JMy  bleeding  sword  before  my  Emperor's  throne, 
And  hope  to  gain  the  applause  which  undelaying 
And  punctual  obedience  may  demand 
From  a  just  judge.  [E.rU  I'tjtler. 

Scene  XII. 

To  these  enter  the  Countess    Tebzkt,  pale  and  disordere'l. 
Her  utterance  is  slow  andfeeMe,  and  uniinpassioned. 

ocTAVio  (meeting  her). 
O,  Couirtess  Terzky !  These  are  the  results 
Of  luckless  unblest  deeds. 

COUXTESS. 

They  are  the  fruits 
Of  your  contrivances.     The  Duke  is  dead, 
My  husband  too  is  dead,  the  Duchess  struggles 
In  the  pangs  of  death,  my  niece  has  disappear"d 
This  house  of  splendour,  and  of  princely  glory. 
Doth  now  stand  desolated :  the  affrighted  sen-ants 
Hush  forth  through  all  its  doors.     I  am  the  last 
Therein ;  I  shut  it  up,  and  here  deliver 
The  keys. 

OCTAVIO  {iclth  a  deep  anguish). 
O  Countess !  my  house,  too,  is  desolate. 


SC.  Xll.l  THE   DEATH   OF  WALLESSTEn;.  311 

COUNTESS 

Who  uext  IS  to  be  muvder-d?  Who  is  next 
To  be  maltreated  ?    Lo  !  the  Duke  is  dead 
The  Emperor-s  vengeance  may  be  pcifaed 
Spare  the  old  ser^-ants ;  let  not  then-  fidelity 
Be  imputed  to  the  faithful  as  a  crime— 
The  evil  destmy  suqorised  my  brother 
Too  suddenly :  he  could  not  think  on  them. 

OCTAVIO. 

Speak  not  of  vengeance !     Speak  not  of  nmltreatnv^nt  1 

The  Emperor  is  appeased ;  the  heavy  fault 

Hath  heavily  been  expiated— nothing 

Descended  from  the  father  to  the  daughter. 

Except  his  gloiy  and  his  services.  _ 

The  Empress  honours  your  adversity. 

Takes  part  in  youi'  afflictions,  ope^s  to  .vou 

Her  motherlv  arms!  Therefore  no  farther  fears, 

Yield  yourself  up  in  hope  and  confidence 

To  the  Imperial  Grace  ! 

couN-TESS  {u-ith  her  ei/e  raised  to  heaven). 

To  the  grace  and  mercy  of  a  greater  Master 

Do  I  yield  up  myself.     Where  shall  tne  body 

Of  the  Duke  have  its  place  of  £"^1/;'^^^^ 

In  the  Chartreuse,  ^vhich  he  himself  did  found 

At  Gitschin,  rests  the  Countess  ^\_allenstem ; 

And  by  her  side,  to  whom  he  ^vas  indebted 

For  his  first  fortunes,  gratefully  ^^e  ^sh^ 

He  might  sometime  repose  m  death !     0  let  him 

Be  buded  there.     And  llke^vise,  tor  my  husband  s 

Remains,  I  ask  the  like  grace.     The  Emperor 

Is  now  the  proprietor  of  all  our  castles. 

This  sure  may  well  be  granted  us-one  sepulchre 

Beside  the  sepulclires  of  our  forefathers ! 

OCTAVIO 

Countess,  you  tremble,  you  turn  pale ! 
COUNTESS  {reassembles  all  her  powers,  and  speaks  wUh  energy 
and  dignity)  . 

You  thiuli 

More  worthily  of  me,  than  to  believe 

i  would  survive  the  downfall  of  my  house. 


312  THE   DEATH    OF   WALLEN8TEIN  t^ACT  V, 

We  did  not  hold  ourselves  too  mean  to  grasp 
After  a  monarch's  crowii — the  crown  did  fate 
Deny,  but  not  the  feeling  and  the  spirit 
That  to  the  cro\vn  belong!.    We  deem  a 
Courageous  death  more  worthy  of  our  free  station 
Than  a  dishonour 'd  life, — I  have  taken  poison. 

OCTAVIO. 

Help !  Help !  Support  her ! 

COUNTESS. 

Nay,  it  is  too  late. 
In  a  few  moments  is  my  fate  accomplish'd 

[Exit  CoujnRss. 

GORDON. 

O  house  of  death  and  horrors ! 

^An  Officer  enters,  and  brings  a  letter  with  the  great  seal. 
Gordon  steps  fonvard  and  meets  him. 

What  is  this  ? 
It  is  the  Imperial  Seal. 

[He  reads  the  address,  and  delivers  the  letter  to  OcTAVio 
with  a  look  of  reproach,  and  with  an  emphasis  on  the 
word. 
To  the  Prince  Piccolomini. 

[OcTAVio,  with  his  whole  frame  eocpressive  of  sudden 
anguish,  raises  his  eyes  to  heaven 

The  Curtain  drops* 


end  of  THE  DEATH  OP  WALLENSTEIN. 


WILHELM    TELL. 

TRANSLATED   BY 

SIR  THEODORE  MARTIN,   K.C.B.,   LL.D. 


WILHELM    TELL. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


^ 


Sebmakn  Gessler,  Governor  of 

Stdtz  atid  Uri. 
Werner,  Baron  of  Attingkauscn, 

free  noble  of  Switzerland. 
Ulrich  von  Rudenz,  /a>  Nephew 
Werner  Stacffacher, 
Conrad  Huhn, 
Hams  auf  der  Mauer, 
jorg  im  iiofe, 
Ulrich  der  Schmidt, 
JosT  VON  Weiler, 
Itel  Redinu, 
Walter  Furst, 
WiLHELM  Tell, 
RcissELMANN,  the  Priest, 
Petermann,  Sacristan, 
KcoNi,  Herdsman, 
Wersi,  Huntsman, 
RuoDi,  Fisherman, 
Arnold  of  Melcuthal, 

CONKAD  BaDMGAKTEN, 
JIUYER  VON  SaRNEN, 

Strutu  von  Winkelried, 
Klaus  von  dkr  Flue, 

BURKUART  AM  BuHEL, 

Arnold  von  Sewa, 
Tfeiffer  of  Lucerhf. 
KuNZ  of  Gersau. 
Jekhi,  Fiahe>^man$  ton. 


People 

of 
Schwi/tz 


of  Uri 


^ 


{  ufUnlei 


Seppi,  Herdsman's  con. 
Gertrude,  Statt father s  uife. 
Hedwig,  wife  of   Tell,  daxighter  a} 

F'urst. 
Bertha  of  Bruneck,  a  rich  heiras. 
Armgart,         \ 

Mechthild,         Peasant  -icomen. 
Elsbeth, 
Hildegard,      1^ 
Walter,  VrdlSson^. 

WiLHELM,  ) 

Friesshardt,     \s^l,i;,y,, 
Leuthold,        )  ^   , 

Rudolph    dku     Harras,    GessUri, 

master  of  the  horse. 
Johannes  Parricida,  Duke  of  Sua- 

hia. 
Stussi,  Overseer. 
The  Mayor  of  Uri. 
A  Courier. 
Master   Stonemason,    Compakiox', 

AND  Workmen. 
'  Taskmaster. 
A  Crier. 
JIoNKs  of  the  Order  of  Cuaritt. 

UORSEMEN  of  GESSLER  AND  LANir.N- 

berg. 
Many  Peasants;  Men  and  Wl-mes 
from  the  Waldstetten. 


316  WriJIELM  TELL.  [ACT  L 

ACT  I. 

Scene  I. 
A  Jiiijh  rochj  sJiore  of  the  lake  of  Lucerne  opposite  Sclnnjtz 
The  lake  makes  a  bend  into  the  land  ;  a  hut  stands  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  shore ;  the  fisher  boy  is  rowing 
about  in  hi%  boat.  Beyond  the  lake  are  seen  the  green 
meadows,  the  hamlets  and  farms  of  Schwytz,  lying  in  the 
clear  sunshine  On  the  left  are  observed  the  peaks  of  the 
Hacken,  surrounded  with  clouds;  to  the  right,  and  in  the 
remote  distance,  appear  the  Glaciers.  The  Ranz  des  Vaches, 
and  the  tinkling  of  cattle  bells,  continue  for  some  time  after 
the  rising  of  the  curtain. 

FISHER  BOY  {sings  in  his  boat). 
Melody  of  the  Ranz   des   Vaches. 
The  clear  smiling  lake  woo'd  to  bathe  in  its  deep, 
A  boy  on  its  green  shore  had  laid  him  to  sleep  ; 
Then  heard  he  a  melody 

Flowing  and  soft, 
And  sweet,  as  when  angels 
Are  singing  aloft. 
And  as  thrilling  with  pleasure  he  wakes  from  his  rest, 
The  waters  are  murmuring  over  his  breast ; 
And  a  voice  from  the  deep  cries, 

"  With  me  thou  must  go, 
I  charm  the  young  shepherd, 

I  lure  him  below." 
HERDSMAM  (o?i  the  mountains). 
Air. — Variation  of  the  Ranz  des  Vaches. 
Farewell,  ye  green  meadows, 

Farewell,  sunny  shore. 
The  herdsman  must  leave  yo\x, 
The  summer  is  o'er. 
We  go  to  the  hills,  but  you'll  see  us  again, 

When  the  cuckoo  is  calling,  and  woodnotes  are  gay, 
When  llow'rets  are  blooming  in  dingle  and  plain. 
And  the  brooks  sparkle  up  in  the  sunshine  of  May. 
Farewell,  ye  green  meadows, 

Farewell,  sunny  shore, 
The  herdsman  must  leave  you, 
The  summer  is  o'er 


SC.  I.]  WILHELM    TELIj  317 

CHAJdois  HUNTER  {appearing  on  the  top  oj  a  clijf) 
Second  Variation  of  the  Ranz  des  Vaches. 
On  the  heights  peals  the  thunder,  and  trembles  the  bridge, 
The  huntsman  bounds  on  by  the  dizzjmg  ridge. 
Undaunted  he  hies  him 
O'er  ice-covered  wild, 
Where  leaf  never  budded, 
Nor  Spring  ever  smiled  ; 
And  beneath  him  an  ocean  of  mist,  where  his  eye 
No  longer  the  dwellings  of  man  ciui  espy ; 
Through  the  parting  clouds  only 

The  earth  can  be  seen, 
Far  domi  neath  the  vapour 
The  meadows  of  green. 
[A    change   comes   over  the   landscape.     A  rumbling, 
cracking  noise  is  heard  among  the  mountains.     Sha- 
dows of  clouds  sueep  across  the  scene. 
[RuoDi,  tlie  fisherman,  comes  out  of  his  cottage^.  Werni, 
the  Jiuntsman.  descends  from  the  rocks.     Kuor,  the 
shepherd,  enters,  uith  a   milkpail  on  his  shoulderi, 
foUou-ed  by  Seppi,  his  assistant. 
UuODi.    Bestir  thee,  Jenni,  haul  the  boat  on  shore. 

The  grizzly  Vale-King*  comes,  the  Glaciers  moau, 
The  lofty  Mytensteinf  draws  on  his  hood. 
And  from  the  Stormcleft  chilly  blows  the  wind; 
The  storm  will  burst,  before  we  are  prepared. 
KuoNi.    Twill  rain  ere  long  ;  my  sheep  browse  eagerly, 

And  "Watcher  there  is  scraping  up  the  eai-th. 
WEiiNi.  The  fish  are  leaping,  and  the  water-hen 

Dives  up  and  down.     A  stoim  is  coming  on 
KuoNl  (to  his  bog). 

Look,  Seppi,  if  the  cattle  are  not  strapng. 
Seppi.    There  goes  brown  Liesel,  I  can  hear  her  bells. 
KuoNi.    Then  all  are  safe  ;  she  ever  ranges  farthest. 
RuoDi.    Youve  a  fine  yoke  of  bells  there,  master  herdsman. 
Werni.  And  likely  cattle,  too.     Are  they  your  own  ? 

•  The  Gcrni;in  is,  Thalcoi/i,  Ruler  of  the  Valli-y—the  name  given  figura- 
tively to  a  dense  giev  mist  which  the  south  wind  sweeps  into  the  valleys  frou, 
the  EQOuntaiu  tops.    "  It  is  well  known  as  the  precursor  of  stonny  weather. 

+  A  steep  rock,  sUtding  on  the  north  of  Rutli,  and  nearly  opposite  to 
Brumeu. 


318  WILHELM  TELL.  [ACT  I. 

KuoNi.    I'm  1101  SO  rich.     They  are  the  noble  lord's 

Of  Attiughaus,  and  trusted  to  my  care. 
Rdodi.    How  gracefully  yon  heifer  bears  lier  ribbon ! 
KuoNi.    Ay,  well  she  knows  she's  leader  of  the  herd, 

And,  take  it  from  her,  she'd  refuse  to  feed. 
RooDL    You're  joking  now.     A  beast  devoid  of  reason — 
Wer.ni   That's  easy  said.    But  beasts  have  reason,  too, — 

And  that  we  know,  we  men  that  hunt  the  chainG>3 

They  never  turn  to  feed — sagacious  creatures  ! 

Till  they  have  placed  a  sentinel  ahead, 

Who  pricks  his  cars  whenever  we  approach, 

And  gives  alarm  with  clear  and  piercing  pipe. 
RuoDi  {to  the  shepherd^ 

Are  you  for  home  ? 
KuoNi.  The  Alp  is  grazed  quite  h&:o 

Wekni.  a  safe  return,  my  friend  I 
KuoNi.  The  same  to  you  ! 

Men  come  not  always  back  from  trades  like  yours. 
lluoDi.    But  who  comes  here,  running  at  topmost  speed? 
Werni.  I  know  the  man  ;  'tis  Baunigart  of  Al/ellen. 
KoNRAU  Baumgarten  [rushliig  in  brealnhss). 

For  God's  sake,  ferryman,  your  boat! 
KvoDi.  "  '  How  now? 

Why  all  this  haste? 
Baum.  Cast  off!  My  life's  at  stake  ! 

Set  me  across ! 
Kuoxi  "^Vhy,  what's  the  matter,  friend  ? 

Werni  Who  are  pursuing  you?    First  tell  us  that. 
Baum.  (to  the  Jishervtan). 

Quick,  quick,  e'en  now  they're  close  upon  my  heels! 

The  Viceroy's  horsemen  are  in  hot  pursuit! 

Fm  a  lost  man,  should  they  lay  hands  upon  me. 
JluoDi.    Why  are  the  troopers  in  pursuit  of  you  ? 
Baum.     First  save  my  life,  and  then  Fll  tell  you  all. 
Wkrni.  There's  blood  upon  your  garments — how  is  this? 
I'.AUM.     The  imperial  Seneschal,  who  dwelt  at  Rossberg — 
KcoNi.    How!  What!  The  Wolfshot*  ?  Is  it  he  pursues  you  :• 

"  In  Gcnnan,  Wolfenschiessen — a  vnimg  man  of  noble  family,  and  a  native 
of  Unterwaldcn,  who  attached  himself  to  the  House  of  Austria,  and  was  ap- 
pointed Buvfjvo'jt,  or  Seneschal,  of  the  Ca.sile  of  Rosslierg.  _  He  was  killed  Ij 
iJutmigarten  in  the  manner,  and  for  the  cauee,  mentioned  in  the  text. 


SC.  I.J 


WILHELM   TELL. 


319 


Baum 


KUONI. 

Baum. 


Baum. 


Batjm.     Hell  ne'er  hurt  man  again  ;  I've  settled  him. 
An  {starting  back).  ^ 

Now,  God  forgive  you,  what  is  this  you  ve  done  ! 
AVliat  eveiy  free  man  in  my  place  had  done._ 
I  have  but' used  mine  ovn\  good  household  right 
'Gainst  him  that  would  have  wrong'd  my  wife— mj 

honour. 
And  has  he  wrong'd  you  in  your  honour,  then". 
That  he  did  not  fulfil  his  foul  desire, 
Is  due  to  God  and  to  my  trusty  axe. 
Werxi.  You've  cleft  his  skull  then,  have  you,  with  your  axe . 
Kuoxi.    O,  tell  us  all  1     You've  time  enough,  before 

The  boat  can  be  unfastened  from  its  moorings. 
When  I  was  in  the  forest  felling  timber. 
My  wife  came  running  out  in  mortal  fear. 
"  The  Seneschal,"  she  said,  '•  was  in  my  house, 
Had  order'd  her  to  get  a  bath  prepared. 
And  thereupon  had  ta'en  unseemly  freedoms. 
From  which  she  rid  hei-self,  and  Hew  to  me." 
Arm'd  as  I  was,  I  sought  him,  and  my  axe 
Has  given  his  bath  a  bloody  benediction. 

Werni.  And  you  did  well ;  no  man  can  blame  the  deed. 

KcoNi.    The  tvrant:  Kow  he  has  his  just  reward! 
Wc  nien  of  Untenvald  have  owed  it  long. 
The  deed  got  wind,  and  now  they're  in  pursuit. 
Heavens !  whilst  we  speak,  the  time  is  Hying  fast. 

[It  begins  to  thunder. 

Kuoxi.    Quick,  ferryman,  and  set  the  good  man  over. 

RuoDi.    Impossible!  a  storm  is  close  at  hand, 
Wait  till  it  pass  I    You  must. 

-g  ^^.^_  Almighty  heavens  I 

I  cannot  wait ;  the  least  delay  is  death. 
KcoNi  (to  the  fisherman).  , ,  ,    ,  •  , 

Push  out— God  with  you!  We  should  help  our  neigh- 
bours ; 
The  like  misfortune  may  betide  us  all. 

[Thunder  and  the  roaring  of  the  wind 
The  South-wind's  up*  I  See  how  the  lake  is  rising! 
I  cannot  steer  against  both  storm  and  wave. 

•  LiterdUy,  The  Fohn  is  loose  !     "  When,"  s;iys  MUller,  in  his  History  of 
Switzerland,  "the  wind  called  the  Fohn  is  high,  the  navigation  of  the  lake 


Baum. 


RuoDi 


320  WILHELM  TELL.  [AOT  I. 

Bacm.  (clasping  liini  by  the  knees). 

God  so  help  you,  as  now  you  pity  me  I 
Werni.  His  life's  at  stake.     Have  pity  on  him,  man! 
KuoNi.   He  is  a  father :  has  a  wife  and  children. 

[Repeated  jjeals  of  ihunden 
KuoDi    What!  and  have  I  not,  then,  a  life  to  lose, 

A  wife  and  child  at  home  as  well  as  he  ? 

See,  how  the  breakers  foam,  and  toss,  and  whirl. 

And  the  lake  eddies  up  from  all  its  depths! 

Right  gladly  would  1  save  the  worthy  man. 

But  'tis  impossible,  as  you  must  see. 
Bal'M.  {still  kneeliny). 

Then  must  I  fall  into  the  tyrant's  hands. 

And  with  the  port  of  safety  close  in  sight! 

Yonder  it  lies!  My  eyes  can  measure  it, 

My  very  voice  can  echo  to  its  shores. 

There  is  the  boat  to  carry  me  across. 

Yet  must  I  lie  here  helpless  and  forlorn. 
KcoNr.   Look !  who  comes  here  ? 

H'^ODi.  'Tis  Tell,  brave  Tell,  of  Barglen* 

[Enter  Tell  tcith  a  crossbow. 
TicLL.      Who  is  the  man  that  here  implores  for  aid  ? 
Kcoxi.    He  is  from  Alzellen,  and  to  guard  his  honour 

From  touch  of  foulest  shame,  has  slain  the  Wolfshct, 

The  Imperial  Seneschal,  who  dwelt  at  Rossberg. 

The  Viceroy's  troopers  are  upon  his  heels ; 

He  begs  the  boatman  here  to  take  him  over. 

But  he,  in  terror  of  the  storm,  refuses. 
RuoDi.   Well,  there  is  Tell  can  steer  as  well  as  I, 

He'll  be  my  judge,  if  it  be  possible. 
[Violent  peals  of  thunder — the  lake  becomes  more  tempestiLOiis. 

Am  I  to  plunge  into  the  jaws  of  hell  ? 

I  should  be  mad  to  dare  the  desperate  act. 
Tell.     The  brave  man  thinks  upon  himself  the  last. 

Put  trust  in  God,  and  help  him  in  his  need ! 

becomes  extremely  dangerous.  Such  is  its  vehemence,  that  the  laws  of  the 
country  require  that  the  fires  shall  be  extinguished  in  the  houses  while  it 
lasts,  and  the  nit;ht  watches  are  doubled.  The  inhabitants  lay  heavy  stones 
upiui  the  roofs  of  their  houses,  to  prevent  their  being  blown  away." 

Diirglon,  the  hirthpliice  nnd  residence  of  Tell.     A  chapel,  erected  ic 
\liiJ.,  rcniiiius  on  the  i\<ui  formerly  ocLUpied  by  bis  hcuge. 


321 

SC.  I.]  VriLHELM    TlilX. 

RuoDi     Safe  in  the  port,  'tis  easy  to  advise 

There  is  the  boat,  and  there  the  lake  I     Iiy  you. 

Tell.     The  lake  may  pity,  hut  the  Viceroy  wiU  not. 
Come,  venture,  man ! 

Shepherd  and  Huntsman*.  „  i^jm  1 

0  save  him  !  save  him  !  save  him ! 
RcoDi     Though  'tAvere  my  brother,  or  my  darling  child. 
1  would  not  go.     It  is  St.  Simon  s  day. 
The  lake  is  up,  and  calling  for  its  victim. 
Tell      Kou^ht's  to  be  done  with  idle  talking  here. 
Time  presses  on-the  man  must  be  assisted 
Sav,  boatmi.n,  will  vou  venture? 

-  ;No;  not  1 

Tn  l'"    Tn  God's  name,  then,  give  me  the  boat !  I  ^-iH. 
With  my  poor  strength,  see  vrhat  is  to  be  done . 

KuoNi.    Ha,  noble  Tell !  „       ,      ^     „,. « 

Werm  That's  like  a  gaUant  huntsmau '. 

Baum.     You  are  my  angel,  my  preserver,  Tell. 
Telt,.     1  mav  preserve  you  from  the  Viceroy  s  po^ver, 
But  from  the  tempest's  rage  another  must. 
Yet  you  had  better  fall  into  God's  hands. 
Than  into  those  of  men  [To  the  herdsman 

Herdsman,  do  thou 
Console  mv  ^\-ife,  should  aught  of  ill  befall  me. 
1  do  but  what  I  may  not  leave  unnone.  ,    ,     , 

[He  leaps  into  the  boat 

Kvo-s\  {to  the  ftsherman). 

A  prettv  man  to  be  a  boatman,  truly  ! 
What  Tell  could  risk,  vou  dared  not  venture  on. 
EuoDi.    Far  better  men  than  1  would  not  ape  Tell. 

There  does  not  live  his  fellow  "mong  the  mountain! 
Weksi  (iihn  has  ascended  a  rock).  .,      , 

He  pushes  off.     God  help  thee  now,  brave  sailor . 
Look  how  his  bark  is  reeling  on  the  waves  . 
KuoNl  {on  the  shore).  .         *    j       „ 

The  surge  lias  swept  clean  over  it.     And  now 
'Tis  out  of  sight.     Yet  stay,  there  'tis  fi^aiu  ^ 
Stoutly  he  stems  the  breakers,  noble  fellow .    ^ 
Seppi     Here  come  the  troopers  hard  as  they  can  ride. 
KuoNT     Heavens!  so  they  io!     Why,  that  was  help,  indeed^ 

[Enter  a  troojc  of  horsemen 
Y 


322  WILEELM  TELL.  [ACT  1. 

J  ST  H    Give  up  the  murderer !  You  have  him  here  ! 

2nd  H    This  Avay  he  came !   'Tis  useless  to  conceal  him ! 

liuODi  and  KuoNi. 

Whom  do  you  mean  "^ 

First  Horseman  {discovering  the  boat). 

The  devil '.    What  do  I  see  ? 

Werxi  { from  above). 

is'i  he  n  yonder  boat  ye  seek  ?     Hide  on, 
]f  you  lay  to,  you  may  o'ertake  him  yet. 

2nd  H.  Curse  on  you,  he's  escaped  I 

First  Horseman  [to  the  shepherd  and  fisherman). 

You  help'd  him  ofF, 
And  you  shall  pay  for  it.     Fall  on  their  herds  \ 
Down  with  the  cottage  !   uurn  it !  beat  it  down  I 

{They  rush  off. 

Seppi  {hurrying  after  them).  Oh  my  poor  lambs! 

KuoNi  {following  him).  Unhappy  me,  my  herds  ! 

Werni.  The  tyrants  ! 

RuoDi  (icringing  his  hands). 

Ptjghteous  Heaven !  Oh,  when  will  come 
Deliverance  to  this  devoted  land  ?   [Exeunt  severally. 


Scene  II. 

A  lime  tree  in  front  of  Stauffacher's  house  at  Steinen,  in 
Schn-ytz,  upon  the  public  road,  near  a  bridge. 

Werner  Stauffaciier  and  Pfeiffer,  of  Lucerne,  enter 
into  conversation. 
Pfeiff.  Ay,  ay,  friend  Stauffachcr,  as  I  have  said, 
Swear  not  to  Austria,  if  you  can  help  it. 
Hold  by  the  Empire  stoutly  as  of  yore, 
And  God  preserve  you  in  your  ancient  freedom  I 

[Presses  his  hand  u-armhj  and  is  goimj. 
Stauff  Wait  till  my  mistress  comes.     Now  do  !    You  arc 

My  guest  in  Schw}'tz— I  in  Lucenie  am  yours. 
Pfeiff.  Thanks !  thanks !  But  I  must  reach  Gersau  to  day. 
Whatever  grievances  your  rulers'  pride 
And  grasping  avarice  may  yet  inflict. 
Bear  them  in  patience — soon  a  change  may  come. 


BC.  II.j  WIIJIELM   TELL.  S23 

Another  emperor  may  mount  the  throne. 
But  Austria's  once,  and  you  are  hers  for  ever.    [Exit, 
[Stauffacher  sits  doiiii  sorroirfulbj  upon  a  hcnch 
under  the  lime  tree.     Gertrude,  his  irife,  enters 
and  finds  him  in  this  posture.   She  places  hersrlj 
near  him,  and  looks  at  him  for  some  time  in 
silence 
Gert      So  sad,  my  love  !     I  scarcely  know  thee  now 
For  many  a  day  in  silence  I  have  mark'd 
A  moody  sorrow  furrowing  thy  brow. 
Some  silent  grief  is  weighing  on  thy  heart. 
Trust  it  to  me      I  am  tliy  faithful  wife. 
And  1  demand  my  half  of  all  thy  cares 

[Stal'ffacher  gives  her  his  hand  and  is  silent, 
Tell  me  what  can  oppress  thy  spirits  thus? 
Thy  toil  is  blest — the  world  goes  well  with  thee — 
Our  bams  are  full — our  cattle,  many  a  score  ; 
Our  handsome  team  of  sleek  and  well-fed  steeds 
Brought  from  the  mountain  pastures  safely  home. 
To  winter  in  their  comfortable  stalls. 
Tliere  stands  thy  house — no  nobleman's  more  fair! 
'Tis  newly  built  with  timber  of  the  best, 
All  grooved  and  fitted  with  the  nicest  skill ; 
Its  many  glistenhig  windows  tell  of  comfort  I 
Tis  quarter'd  o'er  with  scutcheons  of  all  hues, 
And  proverbs  sage,  which  passing  travellers 
Linger  to  read,  and  ponder  o'er  their  meaning. 
Stauff  The'house  is  strongly  built,  and  handsomely, 

Ihit,  ah !  the  ground  on  wliich  we  built  it  totters. 
G  EiiT      Tell  me,  dear  Wenier,  what  you  mean  by  that  ? 
Stauff  No  later  since  than  yesterday,  1  sat 

Beneath  this  linden^  thinking  \vith  delight. 
How  fairly  all  was  finished,  when  from  Kiissnacht, 
The  Viceroy  and  his  men  came  riding  by. 
Before  this' house  he  halted  in  surprise  : 
At  once  I  rose,  and,  as  beseemed  his  rank, 
Advanced  respectfully  to  gieet  the  lord. 
To  whom  the  Emperor  delegates  his  power, 
As  judge  supreme  within  our  Canton  here. 
"  Who  is  the  owier  of  this  house?"  he  asked, 
With  mischief  in  his  thoughts,  for  well  he  knew. 

y  2 


324  VriLHELM   TELL.  [aCT  1. 

With  prompt  decision,  thus  I  answered  him : 
••The  Emperor,  your  grace— my  lord  and  yours, 
And  held  by  me  in  fief."     On  this  he  answered, 
"  I  am  the  Emperor's  viceregent  here. 
And  will  not  that  each  peasant  churl  should  build 
At  his  own  pleasure,  bearing  him  as  freely 
As  though  he  were  the  master  in  the  land 
I  shall  make  bold  to  put  a  stop  to  this ! " 
So  saying,  he,  mth  menaces,  rode  off, 
And  left  me  musing  with  a  heavy  heart, 
On  the  fell  purpose  that  his  words  betray 'd. 
Gert.      Mine  own  dear  lord  and  husband  !  Wilt  thou  ta^ts 
A  word  of  honest  counsel  from  thy  \iiie  ? 
I  boast  to  be  the  noble  Iberg's  child, 
A.  man  of  vride  experience.     Many  a  time. 
As  we  sat  spinning  in  the  winter  nights, 
My  sistei-s  and  myself,  the  people's  chiefs 
Were  wont  to  gather  round  our  father's  hearth. 
To  read  the  old  imperial  charters,  and 
To  hold  sage  converse  on  the  country's  weal. 
Then  hcedfully  1  listened,  marking  well 
What  or  the  wise  man  thought,  or  good  man  wished 
And  garner'd  up  their  wisdom  in  my  heart. 
Hear  then,  and  mark  me  well ;  for  thou  wilt  see, 
T  long  have  known  the  grief  that  weighs  thee  down. 
The  Viceroy  hates  thee,  f;iin  would  injure  thee. 
For  thou  hast  cross'd  his  wish  to  bend  the  Swiss 
In  homage  to  this  upstart  house  of  princes, 
And  kept  them  staunch,  like  their  good  sires  of  old. 
In  true  allegiance  to  the  Empire.     Say, 
Is't  not  so,  Wenier?  Tell  me,  am  I  wrong? 

Stauff.  'Tis  even  so.     For  this  doth  Gessler  hate  me. 

Gert.     He  burns  with  envy,  too,  to  see  thee  living 
Happy  and  free  on  thine  inheritance. 
For  he  has  none.     From  the  Emperor  himself 
Thou  hold'st  in  fief  the  lands  thy  fathers  left  thee 
There's  not  a  prince  i'the  Empire  that  can  show 
A  better  title  to  his  heritage  ; 
For  thou  hast  over  thee  no  lord  but  one. 
And  he  the  mightiest  of  all  Christian  kings 
Gessler,  we  kaow,  is  but  a  younger  son, 


g(,_   jj  1  -fflLHELM   TEIX.  325 

His  oulv  wealth  the  knightly  cloak  he  wears : 

He  therefore  views  an  honest  man's  good  fortune 

With  a  malignant  and  a  jealous  eye 

Long  has  he  sworn  to  compass^thy  destruction. 

As  \et  thou  art  uninjured.     Wilt  thou  wait. 

Till  he  may  safely  give  his  malice  scope  ? 

A  wise  man  would  anticipate  the  blow. 

Stauff  What's  to  be  done  ?  ,      -r     i  • 

f^^^j  Now  hear  what  I  advise 

Tliou  knowest  well,  how  here  with  us  in  Sohwytz 
All  worthy  men  are  groaning  underneath 
This  Gessler's  grasping,  grinding  tyranny. 
Doubt  not  the  men  of  Unterwald  as  well, 
And  Uri,  too,  are  chafing  like  ourselves, 
At  this  oppressive  and  heart-wearying  yoke. 
For  there,  across  the  lake,  the  Landeuberg 
Wields  the  same  iron  rule  as  Gessler  here — 
Xo  fishing-boat  comes  over  to  our  side, 
But  brings  the  tidings  of  some  new  encroachment. 
Some  outrage  fresh,  more  grievous  than  the  last. 
Then  it  were  well,  that  some  of  you— true  men- 
Men  sound  at  heart,  should  secretly  devise. 
How  best  to  shake  this  hateful  thraldom  otf. 
Well  do  I  know,  that  God  would  not  desert  you, 
But  lend  his  favour  to  the  righteous  cause. 
Hast  tliou  no  friend  in  L'ri,  say,  to  whom 
Thou  frankly  may'st  unbosom  all  thy  thoughts  ? 
Btauff.  I  know  full  many  a  gallant  fellow  there. 

And  nobles,  too,— great  men,  of  high  repute.        _ 
In  whom  1  can  repose  unbounded  trust.  Jiisin^ 

Wife  !  What  a  siorm  of  \vild  and  perilous  thoughts 
Hast  thou  stirr'd  up  within  my  tranquil  breast? 
The  darkest  musings  of  mv  bosom  thou 
Hast  draggd  to  light, and  placed  them  fall  before  me ; 
And  what  1  scane  dared  harbour  e'en  in  thought, 
Thou  speakest  plainly  out,  with  feariess  tongue. 
But  hast  thou  weigh 'd  well  what  thou  irgest  thus? 
Discord  will  come,  and  the  fierce  clang  ut  arms. 
To  scare  this  valley's  long  unbroken  peace. 
If  we,  a  feeble  shepherd  race,  shall  dare 
Him  to  the  fight,  that  lords  it  o'er  tlie  world. 


326  WILHELM  TELL.  [ACT  I. 

Ev'u  now  tlicy  only  wait  some  fair  pretext 
For  setting  loose  their  savage  warrior  hordes, 
To  scourge  and  ravage  this  devoted  land, 
To  lord  it  o'er  us  with  the  victor's  rights, 
And,  'neath  the  show  of  lawful  chastisement, 
Despoil  us  of  our  chartered  liherties. 

GliUT      You,  too,  are  men;  can  wield  a  battle  axe 

As  well  as  they.     God  ne'er  deserts  the  brave 

Staufi?    Oh  wife  1  a  horrid,  ruthless  fiend  is  war, 

I'hat  strikes  at  once  the  shepherd  and  his  flock. 

Gi-.RT      "Whate'er  great  Heaven  inflicts,  we  must  emUu-e; 
No  heart  uf  noble  temper  brooks  injustice. 

SiAUFF.  This  house — thy  pride — war,  unrelenting  wui . 
^Vill  burn  it  down. 

Gi.itT  And  did  I  think  this  heart 

Enslaved  and  fettered  to  the  things  of  earth, 
With  viij  own  hand  I'd  hurl  the  kindling  torch. 

Staufi'.  Thou  hast  faith  in  human  kindness,  wife;  but  war 
Spares  not  the  tender  infant  in  its  cradle 

Gfut.     There  is  a  friend  to  innocence  in  heaven  I 

Look  forward,  Werner — not  behind  you,  now ! 

Stauif.  We  men  may  perish  bravely,  sword  in  hand ; 

But  oh,  what  late,  my  Gertrude,  may  be  thine? 

G  ei;t      None  are  so  weak,  but  one  last  choice  is  left. 
A  spring  from  yonder  bridge,  and  I  am  free ! 

SxAUFF.  [emhracinij  her). 

Well  may  he  fight  for  hearth  and  home,  that  claspa 

A  heart  so  rare  as  thine  Jigainst  his  own ! 

What  are  the  hosts  of  Emperors  to  him? 

Gertrude,  farewell!     I  will  to  Uri  straight 

There  lives  my  worthy  conirade,  Walter  Fiirst; 

His  thoughts  and  mine  upon  these  times  are  one 

Tliere,  too,  resides  the  noble  Banneret 

Of  Attinghaus.     High  though  of  blood  he  be, 

He  loves  the  people,  honours  their  old  customs. 

With  both  of  these  I  will  take  counsel,  how 

To  rid  us  bravely  of  our  country's  foe. 

Farewell !  and  while  I  am  away,  bear  thou 

A  watchful  eye  in  management  at  home. 

The  pilgrim,  journeying  to  the  house  of  God, 

And  pious  monk,  collecting  for  his  cloister. 


8c  in.]  ^YIU^ELM  tell.  327 

To  these  give  liberally  from  purse  and  gamer. 
Stauffacher's  house  TS'ould  not  be  hid.     Paght  out 
Upon  the  public  ^vay  it  stands,  and  offers 
To  all  that  pass  an  hospitable  roof. 
[While  they  are  retiring.  Tell  enters  uvV/i  Baumgarten 
Tei  l      No^v,  then,  you  have  no  further  need  of  nie.  _ 
Enter  yon  house.     'Tis  Werner  StautTlicher  s, 
A  man' that  is  a  father  to  distress. 
See,  there  he  is,  himself !     Corac,  follow  me. 

[They  retire  vj).     Scene  changes 

Scene  III. 
A  common  near  Altdorf.     On  an  eminence  in  the  haclc-grouud 
a  Castle  in  progress  of  erection,  and  so  Jar  advanced  that  the 
outline  of  the  whole  mag  he  distinguished.     The  hack  part 
is  finished;  men  are  working  at  the  front.     Scaffolding,  on 
which  the  xcorkmen  are  going  up  and  doicn.    A  slater  is  seen 
upon  the  highest  part  of  the  roof.    All  is  hustle  and  activity. 
Taskmaster,  Masox,  Workmen  and  Labourers. 
Task  iicith  a  stick,  urging  on  the  workmen). 

Up,  up  !  You've  rested  long  enough,   io  work . 
The  stones  here !  Now  the  mortar,  and  the  lime . 
And  let  his  lordship  see  the  work  advanced. 
When   next  he   comes.     These  fellows   crawl   like 

mi  Alls 

[To  two  labourers,  tcith  loads 

Wliat!  call  ve  that  a  load?     Go,  double  it 
Is  this  the  way  ye  earn  your  wages,  laggards  . 

1st  W    'Tis  veiy  hard  Aat  we  must  bear  the  stones. 
To  make  a  keep  and  dungeon  for  ourselves  . 

Task       Whafs  that  you  mutter?     'Tis  a  worthless  race, 
And  fit  for  nothing  but  to  milk  their  cows,_ 
And  saunter  idly  up  and  do\\-n  the  mountains 

Old  Man  [sinks  down  cvhausted). 
I  can  no  more 

Task  {shaking  him). 

Up,  up,  old  man,  to  work. 

1st  W    Have  you  no  bowels  of  compassion,  thus 
To  press  so  hard  upon  a  poor  old  man. 
That  scarce  can  drag  his  feeble  limbs  along  ? 


328  WILIIKL.M    TELL.  [aCT  I. 

Master  Mason  aiid  Workmen. 

Shame,  shame  upon  you — shame !  It  cries  to  Iieavou ! 
Task.      Mind  your  own  business.     I  but  do  my  duty. 
1st  W.   Pray,  master,  ^vhat■s  to  be  the  name  of  this 

Same  castle,  when  'tis  built  ? 
Task.  The  Keep  of  Uri ; 

For  by  it  we  sh:Jl  keep  you  in  subjection. 
Work.    The  Keep  of  Uri  ? 

Task.  Well,  why  laugh  at  that? 

2nd  W.  So  you'll  keep  Uri  with  this  paltry  place  ! 
IsT  W.  How  many  molehills  such  as  that  must  first 

Be  piled  above  each  other,  ere  you  make 

A  mountain  equal  to  the  least  in  Uri  ? 

[Task.master  retires  up  the  stags, 
Mas.M.  ril  drown  the  mallet  in  the  deepest  lake. 

That  served  my  hand  on  this  accursed  pile. 

[Enter  Tell  and  Stauffacher 
Statjff.  0,  that  I  had  not  lived  to  see  this  sight! 
Tell.     Here  'tis  not  good  to  be.     Let  us  proceed. 
Stauff.  Am  I  in  Uri,  in  the  land  of  freedom? 
Mas.M.  0,  sir,  if  you  could  only  see  the  vaults 

Beneath  these  towers.     The  man  that  tenants  them 

Will  never  hear  the  cock  crow  more. 
Stauff.  0  God! 

Mason.  Look  at  tliese  ramparts  and  these  buttresses, 

That  seem  as  they  were  built  to  last  for  ever. 
Tell.     Hands  can  destroy  whatever  hands  have  rear"d. 

[Pointing  to  the  mountains. 

That  house  of  freedom  God  hath  built  for  us. 

[A  drum  is  heard.     People  enter  bearing  a  cap 
upon  a  pole,  followed  hij  a  crier.     Women  and 
children  thronging  tinnultuously  after  them 
1st  W.   What  means  the  drum?     Give  heed! 
j^Jason.  ^^T^y.  here's  a  mumming  1 

And  look,  the  (ap~what  can  they  mean  by  that? 
Crier.    In  the  Emperor's  name,  give  ear ! 
"VVoRK.  Hush!  silence!  hush 

Cbier.    Ye  men  of  Uri,  ye  do  see  this  cap ! 

It  will  be  set  upon  a  lofty  pole 

In  Altdorf,  in  the  market  place  :  and  this 

Is  the  Lord  Governor's  good  will  and  pleasure, 


8C.  III.]  W1LBEI.M   TELI.  "^-^ 

The  cap  shall  have  like  honour  as  himself, 
And  all  shall  reverence  it  with  bended  knee. 
And  head  uncovered  :  thus  the  king  will  know 
Who  are  his  true  and  loyal  subjects  here ; 
His  life  and  goods  are  forfeit  to  the  crown, 
That  shall  refuse  obedience  to  the  order. 

[Ilie  people  bunt  out  into  laughter.     I  he  drwn 
heats,  and  the  procession  passes  on 
1st  W    a  strange  device  to  tall  upon,  indeed  '.^ 
Do  reverence  to  a  cap!  A  pretty  farce. 
Heard  ever  mortal  anything  like  this  .     ^ 
Mas  M  Down  to  a  cap  on  bended  knee,  forsooth .  ^ 
Rare  jesting  this  with  men  of  sober  sense. 
Is-  W    Xav  were  it  but  the  imperial  cro\ra,  indeed ! 
But  'tis  tlie  cap  of  Austria  1    Ive  seen  it 
Hanc^incf  above  the  throne  m  Gesslers  hall. 
AlASON    TlieWof^^^stria?    Mark  that!  A  snare 
To  "et  us  into  Austria's  power,  by  Heaven . 
Work.    No  freebom  man  will  stoop  to  such  disgrace. 
AUs  M  Come— to  our  comrades,  and  ad\-ise  with  them. 
'  '    ■  '  [ihey  retire  Up. 

Tell  (to  St.^uffaciier).  i-  •     j  i 

You  see  how  matters  stand.     Farewell,  my  fncad . 

Stauff.  Whither  away?  Oh,  leave  us  not  so  soon. 

Tell.     Thev  look  for  me  at  home.     So  fare  ye  well. 

Stauff.  Mv  heart's  so  full,  and  has  so  much  to  tell  you 

Tell.     Words  ^^■i\l  not  make  a  heart  that  s  heavy  light. 

Stauff.  Yet  words  may  possibly  conduct  to  deeds. 

Tell      All  we  can  do  is  to  endure  in  silence. 

Stauff.  But  shall  we  bear  what  is  not  to  be  borne  . 

Tell      Impetuous  rulers  have  the  shortest  reigns. 

When  the  fierce  Southwind  rises  from  his  chasms, 
Men  cover  up  their  fires,  the  ships  in  haste 
Make  for  the  harbour,  and  the  mighty  spirit 
Sweeps  o'er  the  earth,  and  leaves  no  trace  behind. 
Let  every  man  live  quietly  at  home  ; 
Peace  to' the  peaceful  rarely  is  denied. 

Stauff.  And  is  it  thus  you  view  our  grievances? 

Tell      The  serpent  stings  not,  till  it  is  provoked. 

Let  them  alone ;  they'll  weary  of  themselves, 
Whene'er  they  see  we  are  not  to  be  roused. 


330  VriLHELM    TELL  [ACT  I. 

Stauff.  Much  migliL  be  done— did  we  stand  fast  together. 
Tell.     When  the  ship  founders,  he  will  best  escape, 

Who  seeks  no  olher's  safety  but  his  own. 
Stauff.  And  you  desert  the  common  cause  so  coldly  ? 
Tell.     A  man  can  safely  count  but  on  himself ! 
Stauff.  Nay,  even  the  weak  grow  strong  by  union. 
Tell.     But  the  strong  man  is  strongest  when  alone. 
Stauff  Your  country,  then,  cannot  rely  on  you, 

If  in  despair  she  rise  against  her  foes 
Tell.     Tell  rescues  the  lost  sheep  from  yawning  gulphs : 

Is  he  a  man,  then,  to  desert  his  friend;;  V 

Yet,  whatsoe'er  you  do,  spare  me  from  council  1 

I  was  not  born  to  ponder  and  select ; 

But  when  vour  course  of  action  is  resolved, 

Then  call  on  Tell ;  you  shall  not  find  him  fail. 

[Exeunt   severally.     A   sudden   tumult   is    heara 
around  the  scaffolding. 
Mason  {running  in).  What's  wrong? 
FmsT  Wo-RKUA-a  (running  fortvard). 

The  slater's  fallen  from  the  root. 

Bertha  (rushing  in).  i    i    t 

Is  he  dashed  to  pieces?  Run— save  mm,  help! 
If  help  be  possible,  save  him  !  Here  is  gold. 

[Throu-s  her  trinkets  among  the  j^eopU 

Mason    Hence  with  your  gold,— your  universal  charm, 
And  remedy  for  ill !     When  you  have  torn      _ 
Fathers  from  children,  husbands  from  their  wiv-es. 
And  scattered  woe  and  wail  throughout  the  land, 
You  think  with  gold  to  compensate  for  all. 
Hence  !  Till  we  saw  you,  we  were  happy  men ; 
With  you  came  misery  and  dark  despair. 

Bertha  (to  the  Taskmaster,  icho  has  returned). 

Lives  he  ?  t    7      r  •   7      i 

[Taskmaster  shakes  hit  head. 

Ill-fated  towers,  with  curses  built, 

And  doomed  with  curses  to  be  tenanted  !  [EanU 


8C.  rv. 


WILHELM   TELL 


ooi 


SCEKK    IV 

The  House  of  Waltee  Fukst.     Wai.ter  Furst  and  Arnoli; 
Vox  MELcnTHAL  enter  simuItaneousJu  at  diprcnt  sides 

Melch.  Good  Walter  Fiii-st 

Y^^^t:  If  we  should  Le  surprised  ! 

Stav  ^^■ILere  you  are.     We  are  Leset  ^vid.  spies. 
^Ielch.  Have  vou  no  news  for  me  from  Unterwald . 
What  of  my  father  ?     "lis  not  to  be  borne, 
Thus  to  be' pent  up  like  a  felon  here  1 
What  have  I  done  of  such  a  heinous  stamp, 
To  skulk  and  hide  me  like  a  murderer? 
I  onlv  laid  mv  staff  across  the  fingers 
Of  the  pert  varlet,  when  before  my  eyes, 
By  order  of  the  goveraor,  he  tried 
To  drive  awav  mv  handsome  team  of  oxen. 
FuRST     You  are  too  rash  by  far.     He  did  no  more 
Than  what  the  governor  had  ordered  him. 
You  had  transgress'd,  and  therefore  should  have  paid 
The  penaltv.  however  hard,  in  silence. 
Melch.  Was  I  to  brook  the  fellow's  saucy  words  ^ 

"  That  if  the  peasant  must  have  bread  to  eat, 

•«  Why,  let  him  go  and  draw  the  plough  himsell . 

It  cut  me  to  the  veiy  soul  to  see 

Mv  oxen,  noble  creatures,  when  the  knave 

Unvoked  them  from  the  plough.    As  though  they  fel.. 

The  wrong,  thev  lowed  and  butted  with  their  horus. 

On  this  I°could  contain  myself  no  longer. 

And,  overcome  by  passion,  struck  him  do^^-n.   ^ 

0  we  old  men  can  scarce  command  ourselves  .        ^ 

And  can  we  wonder  youth  should  break  its  bounds  f 

I'm  onlv  sorry  for  my  fatlier's  sake ! 

To  be  awav  from  him.  that  needs  so  much  ^ 

Mv  fostering  care  1     The  governor  detests  mm, 

Because  he  hath,  whene'er  occasion  ser^'ed, 

Stood  stoutly  up  for  right  and  liberty. 

Therefore  thev'U  bear  him  hard— the  poor  old  inau . 

And  there  is  none  to  shield  him  from  their  gripe. 

Come  what  come  may,  I  must  go  home  agum. 

Compose  vourself.  and  wait  in  patience  till 


FuRST. 

Melch. 


FuRST 


We  oei  some  tidings  o  er  from  Untei-walU. 


332 


WILUELJI   TELL.  [A-CI    I. 


Away  !  away  !  I  liear  a  knock !  Perhaps 

A  message  from  the  Viceroy  !     Get  thee  in ! 

You  are  not  safe  from  Landeuherger's*  arm 

In  Uri,  for  these  tyrants  pull  together. 
Melch.  They  teach  us  Switzers  what  ice  ought  to  do, 
FuRsT     Away  !  Ill  call  you  when  the  coast  is  clear. 

[Melchthal  retires. 

Unhappy  youth  1  I  dare  not  tell  him  all 

The  evil  that  my  hoding  heart  predicts! 

Who's  there  ?     The  door  ne'er  opens,  but  I  look 

For  tidings  of  mishap.     Suspicion  lurks 

With  darkling  treachery  in  every  nook. 

Even  to  our  inmost  rooms  they  force  their  way, 

These  myrmidons  of  power  ;  and  soon  we'll  need 

To  fasten  bolts  and  bars  upon  our  doors. 

[He  opens  the  door,  and  steps  hack  in  surprise  as 
Werner  Stauffacher  enters. 
What  do  I  see?  You,  Werner?  Now,  by  Heaven  ! 
A  valued  guest,  indeed.     No  man  e'er  set 
His  foot  across  this  threshold,  more  esteem'd 
Welcome  !  thrice  welcom.e,  Werner,  to  my  roof  !^ 
What  brings  you  here  ?  What  seek  you  here  in  Uri  ? 
Stauff.  {shakes  Fukst  hy  the  hand). 

The  olden  times  and  olden  Switzerland. 
FoBST    You  bring  them  with  you.     See  how  I'm  rejoiced, 
My  heart  leaps  at  the  very  sight  of  you. 
Sit  down— sit  down,  and  tell  me  how  jou  left 
Your  charming  wife,  fair  Gertrude  ?     Iberg's  child. 
And  clever  as  her  father.     Not  a  man, 
That  wends  from  Gei-many,  by  IMeinrad's  Cell,! 
To  Italy,  but  praises  far  and  wide 
Your  house's  hospitality.     But  say,_ 
Have  you  come  here  direct  from  FlUelen, 
And  have  you  noticed  nothing  on  your  way. 
Before  you  halted  at  my  door? 

•  Borcn"er  von  Landeuherfr,  a  man  of  noLle  family  in  Thurgau,  and 
Governor  of  Unterwald,  infamous  for  his  cruelties  to  the  Swiss,  and  particu 
larly  to  the  venerable  Henry  of  the  Ilaldcn.  He  was  slam  at  the  battle  of 
Morearten,  in  1315.  .  it  ,         n        »t, 

+  A  cell  built  in  the  9th  centurv,  by  Meinrad,  Count  of  Hohenzollern,  the 
founder  of  the  Convent  of  Einsiedeln,  subsequently  alluded  to  in  the  ten. 


SC.  IV.] 


WILHELM   TELL 


333 


Stauff.  {sits  Joini).  ^     T^ 

A  work  in  progress,  as  I  came  along, 
I  little  thought  to  see-that  likes  me  u 
FunsT.    0  friend  !  youve  lighted  on  my  thonght  at  onc^. 
SX.UFF  Such  thingi  in  Uri  ne'er  -^^^}-Z:^Ze 
Never  \N'as  prison  here  m  man  s  remembiauce, 
Nor  ever  any  stronghold  but  the  grave 
FUKST    You  name  it\ell.     It  is  the  grave  of  freedom 
Stauff  Friend,  Walter  FUrst,  I  ^n^H  be  plam  ..tn  you. 
No  idle  curiosity  it  is, 

That  brings  me  here,  but  heavy  cares,     i  le  t 
Thraldom  at  home,  and  thraldom  meets  me  here^ 
Our  wrongs,  e'en  now,  are  more  than  we  can  bear, 
And  who  shall  tell  us  where  they  are  to  end  . 
From  eldest  time  the  Switzer  has  been  tree, 
Accustom'd  only  to  the  mildest  rule. 
Such  things  as  now  we  suffer,  ne  er  ^N-ere  knowu, 
Since  herdsman  first  drove  cattle  to  the  hills. 

FuRST    Yes,  our  oppressions  '^'"VrTT^t  inahaus 
Whv,  even  our  own  good  lord  of  Attnighaus, 
Who  lived  in  olden  times,  himself  declares. 
They  are  no  longer  to  be  tamely  borne. 
Stauff.  In  Unterwalden  vender  'tis  the  same  ; 
And  bloody  has  the  retribution  been. 
The  imperial  Seneschal,  the  ^^  o  fshot,  who 
At  Rossberg  dwelt,  long'd  for  forbidden  frmt- 
Baumgarten's  wife,  that  lives  at  Aizellen, 
He  wished  to  overcome  in  shametul  sort, 
On  which  die  husband  slew  him  with  his  axe. 
FUEST     O,  Heaven  is  iust  in  all  its  judgments  still. 
Baumgarten,  say  you ?     A  most  worthy  m.xn. 
Has  he  escaped,  and  is  he  saicly  luc  ; 
Stauff  Your  son-in-law  conveyed  him  o  er  the  lake, 
And  he  lies  hidden  in  my  house  at  bteincn. 
He  brought  the  tidings  with  him  of  a  thing 
That  has  been  done  at  Sanien,  worse  than  ail, 
A  thing  to  make  the  very  heart  run  blood ! 
FuKST  {attentivehj). 

Stauff  ^'^  °''   ^^'^''' '''''  There  dwells  in  Melchthal.theD, 
'  Just  as  you  enter  by  the  road  from  Kerns, 


334  WILHELM   tElX.  [vCt  t. 

An  upright  man,  named  Henry  of  the  llalden, 
\  man  of  weight  and  influence  in  the  Diet. 

FuRST.    Whokno^vshimnot•?    But  what  of  him  V  Proceod. 

Stauff.  The  Landen\)erg,  to  punish  some  oHence. 
Committed  by  the  ohl  man's  son,  it  seems. 
Had  given  command  to  take  the  youth  s  Lesi  ptur 
Of  oxen  from  his  plough  ;  on  which  the  lad 
Struck  down  the  messenger  and  took  to  llight 

I'uKST.    But  the  old  father— tell  me,  what  of  him '? 

SrAUFF.  The  Landenberg  sent  for  him,  and  required 
He  should  jiroduce  his  son  u[ion  the  spot  ; 
And  when  tli"  old  man  protested,  and  with  truth, 
That  he  knew  nothing  of  the  fugitive, 
The  tyrant  call'd  his  torturers. 

FuKST  (smnns  up  and  tries  to  lead  hivi  lo  the  other  side). 
^  ^       "^  Hush,  no  more  ! 

Stadffacheu  (ivUh  increas'inrj  ivarmth).  ^ 

"And  though  thy  son,"  he  cried,  "has    scaped  me 
now,  „ 

I  have  thee  f^ist,  and  thou  shalt  feel  my  vengeance. 
With  that  they  flung  the  old  man  to  the  earth, 
And  plunged  the  pointed  steel  into  his  eyes. 

Fi:bst.    Merciful  Heaven ! 

]\Iki.cii.  (riDihinfj  out).  . 

Into  his  eyes,  his  eyes  .'' 

Stacff  [addresses  himself  in  astonishment  fo  Walter  Furst). 
Who  is  this  youth  ? 

"SlKLCU.i'irasping  himconvidsicchj). 

"■■^  Into  his  eyes  ?  Speak,  speakX 

FuRST.    Oh,  miserable  hour! 

Stauff  Who  is  it,  tell  me  ? 

[Stauffacher  makes  a  sifjn  to  hnti 

It  is  his  son  !  All  righteous  heaven  ! 
Melcii.  .       ,  And  I 

Must  be  from  thence  !     What !  into  botli  his  eyes  ? 
Furst.    Be  calm,  be  calm  ;  and  bear  it  like  a  man  I 
:Melch.  And  all  for  me— for  my  mad  wilful  folly ! 

Blind,  did  you  say?  Quite  blind— and  Itoth  his  eyes/ 
SfAUFF.  Ev'n  so.     Tlie  fountain  of  his  sight's  dried  up 

He  ne'er  will  see  the  blessed  sunshine  more. 
Furst.    Oh,  spare  his  anguish  1 


g^    TV.]  V'iLHELM   TELL.  ^^^ 

^^^c^-  Never,  never  more ! 

[Presses  his  hands  vpon  his  eyes  and  is  silent  for 
some  moments;  then  turning  from  one  to  the 
other,  speaks  in  a  subdued  tone,  broken  by  sol.t 
0  the  eye's  light,  of  all  the  gifts  of  Heaven. 
The  dearest,  hest !  From  light  all  beings  live- 
Each  foir  created  thing— the  veiy  plants 
Tura  A\-ith  a  joyful  transport  to  the  light, 
And  he— he  must  drag  on  through  all  his  days 
In  endless  darkness!     Never  more  for  him 
The  sunny  meads  shall  glow,  the  flow'rets  bloom  ; 
Nor  shalfhe  more  behold  the  roseate  tints 
Of  the  iced  mountain  top !     To  die  is  nothing. 
But  to  have  life,  and  not  have  sight, — oh.  that 
Is  misery  indeed !     Why  do  you  look 
So  piteously  at  me  ?  I  have  two  eyes. 
Yet  to  my  poor  blind  father  can  give  neither! 
No,  not  one  gleam  of  that  great  sea  of  light. 
That  with  its  dazzling  splendour  floods  my  gaze 
Stauff,  Ah,  I  must  swell  the  measure  of  your  grief, 
Instead  of  soothing  it.     The  ^vorst,  alas  ! 
llemains  to  tell.     They've  stripp'd  him  of  his  all ; 
Nought  have  they  left  "him,  save  his  stafl",  on  which. 
Blind,  and  in  rags,  he  moves  from  door  to  door. 
Melck,  Nought  but  his  staff  to  tlifi  old  eyeless  man! 
Stripp'd  of  his  all — even  of  the  light  of  day, 
The  common  blessing  of  the  meanest  wretch 
Tell  me  no  more  of  patience,  of  concealment ! 
Oh,  v.hat  a  base  and  coward  thing  am  I, 
That  on  mine  own  security  I  thought. 
And  took  no  care  of  thine*!     Thy  precious  head 
Left  as  a  pledge  within  the  tyrant's  grasp! 
Hence,  craven-hearted  prudence,  hence  1    And  all 
My  thoughts  be  vengeance,  and  the  despot's  blood ! 
I'll  seek  him  straight— no  power  shall  stay  me  now^ 
And  at  his  hands  demand  my  father's  eyes. 
I'll  beard  him  'mid  a  thousand  mynniduns  I 
What's  life  to  me,  if  in  his  heart's  best  blood 
I  cool  the  fever  of  this  mighty  anguish.   [He  isyoing 
FUB3T.    Stay,  this  is  madness,  Melch thai !     What  avails 
Your  single  arm  against  his  power?     He  sito 


330  WIT.TIEI.M   TELT..  [aW    1. 

At  Sarnen  high  within  his  lordly  keep, 
And,  safe  within  its  battlemented  walls, 
May  lau.^h  to  scorn  vour  unavaihng  rage. 
MEI.C11.  And  though  he  sat  xvithin  the  icy  domes 

(^f  von  far  Schreckhorn-ay,  or  higher,  where 

VeiVd  since  eternity,  the  Jungfrau  soars. 

Still  to  the  tyrant  would  I  make  my  way ; 

With  twenty  comrades  mnided  like  myselt, 

I'd  lay  his  fastness  level  with  the  earth! 

And  if  none  follow  me,  and  if  you  all. 

In  terror  for  your  homesteads  and  your  herds, 

Bow  in  submission  to  the  tyrants  yoke, 

[•11  call  the  herdsmen  on  the  hills  around  me, 

\ud  there  beneath  heaven's  free  and  boundless  rool, 

Where  men  still  feel  as  men,  and  hearts  are  true, 

Proclaim  aloud  this  foul  enormity! 

Stadff.  (to  Fdrst).  . 

Tis  at  its  height— and  are  we  then  to  wait 
Till  some  extremity 

Melchthal.  ^^f  extremity 

Remains  for  apprehension,  when  men  s  e)  es 
Have  ceased  to  be  secure  within  their  sockets  f 
Are  we  defenceless?  Wherefore  did  we  learn 
To  bend  the  cross-bow,— wield  the  battle-axe  ^ 
What  living  creature,  but  in  its  despair, 
Finds  for  itself  a  weapon  of  defence  ? 
The  baited  stag  will  turn,  and  with  the  show 
Of  his  dread  antlers  hold  the  hounds  at  bay; 
The  chamois  drags  the  huntsman  down  th  abyss; 
The  very  ox,  the  partner  of  man  s  toil. 
The  sharer  of  his  roof,  that  meekly  bends 
The  strength  of  his  huge  neck  beneath  the  yoke, 
Springs  up,  if  he's  provoked,  whets  his  strong  ho.n. 
And  tosses  his  tormentor  to  the  clouds. 
FunsT     If  the  three  Cantons  thought  as  we  three  do. 

Something  might,  then,  be  done   with  good  effect 
Sr^uFF  When  Uri  calls,  when  Unterwald  replies. 

Sch^Ttz  will  be  mindful  of  her  ancient  league  *. 

.  The  League,  or  Bond,  of  the  Three  Canton,  wns  ot  very  ™;^^«;;;^ 
They  T-et  and  rrnewed  it  from  time  to  time,  csi-ccmlly  when  ihc-u   l.berties 


so.  IV.]  WILHELM    TELL.  337 

MF.LCH.  I've  maiiy  friends  ia  Untenvald  and  none 

That  would  not  gladly  venture  life  and  limb, 

If  fairly  back'd  and  aided  by  the  rest. 

Oh  sa^e  and  reverend  fathers  of  this  land, 

Here  do  I  stand  before  your  riper  years. 

An  unskiird  youth,  ^vhose  voice  must  m  the  Diet 

Still  be  subdued  into  respectful  silence. 

Do  not,  because  that  I  am  young,  and  ^vant 

Experience,  slight  my  counsel  and  my  ^vords. 

'Tis  not  the  wantonness  of  youthful  blood 

were  tlu-eatened  will,  danger.  A  remarkable  instance  of  this  occurred  in 
tT/pna  of  the  13th  century,  when  Albert,  of  Austria,  became  hmperor  and 
vtn,p  s  U-  fir  the  firJt'time,  the  Bond  was  redi^ed  to  wnung  As  , 
is  important  fo  the  understanding  of  f  ^"^  Pf  T^°f  to  it  ^  The  oSinal 
tion  il  subioined  of  the  oldest  known  document  re lat.ng   o  U.       ^      ;V"=^  - 

Uri  and  the  whole  of  the  men  of  the  upper  and  lower  vales  of  Stanz. 

THE   BOND. 

*!,„♦  *\.a  rn<»n  nf  the  Dale  of  Uri,  the  Conv 

Be  it  known  to  e;7  f-'^^^^^^,  J^HL  ml.dns  of  Unt;rwald,  in 

'"""■7  If'ofl^'J^^ltme  have  fun  confidently  bound  themselves,  and 
:ons,derationof  the  eul  tine,i  ^^^  property  and 

^,  rga2  aTwhtsl^Udo  vilnce  to^m,  or  any  of  them.  That  is 
""NVht^cr  buf;  Seignior,  let  him  obey  according  to  the  conditions  of  bis 
''t?"are  agreed  to  receive  into  these  dales  no  Judge,  who  is  not  a  country- 
man  and  indweller,  or  who  hath  to"g>lj/';f''^f;^^^^  ,^,,11  be  determined  by 

•*t"ts;±d5^rrZ.ir:;;;ho...j...,,,..ran,o.,e  who  U  „.. 

Every  one  ...  ''■*•  >"''    S,  *' for  ^1  .W  inj.tr  "  ..c»s»„ed  by  his 

i:r;:.  •.hf"t'.'.hall"he>p  ,ho  o.he,pa,=y.     The.  decree.  .h.U,  God 
Viffi»g,  endoic  ctcr..;.lly  '"  «"'  f^'"^  advantage,  ^ 


338 


WILHELM   TELL. 


[act  I. 


That  fires  my  spirit ;  but  a  pang  so  deep 
That  e'en  the  flinty  rocks  must  pity  me. 
You,  too,  are  fathers,  heads  of  families. 
And  you  must  wish  to  have  a  virtuous  son. 
To  reverence  your  grey  hairs,  and  shiehl  your  eyes 
With  pious  and  aifectionate  regard. 
Do  not,  1  pray,  because  in  limb  and  fortune 
You  still  are  unassail'd,  and  still  your  eyes 
Revolve  undimm'd  and  sparkling  in  their  spheres  ; 
Oh,  do  not,  therefore,  disregard  our  wrongs ! 
Above  you,  too,  doth  hang  the  tyrants  sword. 
You,  too,  have  striven  to  alienate  the  land 
From  Austria.     This  was  all  my  father's  crime : 
You  share  his  guilt,  and  may  his  punishment. 
Stauffacher  (^0  Furst). 

Do  thou  resolve  !  I  am  prepared  to  follow. 
Furst.    First  let  us  learn,  what  steps  the  noble  lurds 
Von  Sillinen  and  Attinghaus  pi'opose. 
Their  names  would  rally  thousands  in  the  cause. 
Melch.  Is  there  a  name  within  the  Forest  IMountains 

That  carries  more  respect  than  thine — and  thine? 
To  names  like  these  the  people  cling  for  help 
With  confidence — such  names  are  household  words. 
Rich  was  your  lieritage  of  manly  virtue. 
And  richly  have  you  added  to  its  stores. 
What  need  of  nobles  ?     Let  us  do  the  work 
Ourselves.     Although  we  stood  alone,  methinks, 
We  should  be  able  to  maintain  our  rights. 
Stauff.  The  nobles'  wrongs  are  not  so  great  as  ours. 

The  toiTent,  that  lays  waste  the  lower  grounds, 
Hath  not  ascended  to  the  uplands  yet. 
]]ut  let  them  see  the  country  once  in  arms, 
They'll  not  refuse  to  lend  a  helping  hand. 
FcnsT.    Were  there  an  umpire  'twixt  ourselves  and  Austria, 
Justice  and  law  might  then  decide  our  quarrel. 
But  our  oppressor  is  our  emperor  too, 
And  judge  supreme.     'Tis  God  must  help  us,  then, 
And  our  own  arm !     Be  yours  the  task  to  rouse 
The  men  of  Schwytz  ;  I'll  rally  friends  in  Uri 
But  whom  are  we  to  send  to  Unterwald  ? 
Melch.  Thither  send  me.     Whom  should  it  more  concern? 


SC.  IV.]  WILUELM   TELL.  3^9 

FuRST.    No,  Tklelchthal,  no ;  thou  art  my  guest,  and  I 
Must  answer  for  thy  safety. 

Melchthal.  ^       .^'^T-^'\«,. 

I  laiow  each  forest  track  and  mountani  pass , 
Friends  too  I'll  find,  be  sure,  on  every  hand, 
To  <nve  me  \\-illmg  shelter  from  the  foe. 
Stauff.  Nay,  let  him  go  :  no  traitors  harbour  there: 
For  tyranny  is  so  abhorred  ni  Unterwald, 
No  niinions  can  be  found  to  work  her  will. 
In  the  low  valleys,  too,  the  Alzeller 
Will  gain  confederates,  and  rouse  the  country. 
Meixh.  But  how  shall  we  communicate,  and  not 

Awaken  the  suspicion  of  the  tyrants? 
Stauff.  Might  we  not  meet  at  Brunuen  or  at  Treib 

Hard  by  the  spot  where  merchant  vessels  land  .'' 
FuRST.    We  must  not  go  so  openly  to  work. 

Hear  mv  opinion.     On  the  lake  s  left  bank, 
As  we  sail  hence  to  Brunneu,  right  aganist 
The  ISIytenstein,  deep-hidden  in  the  wood 
A  meadow  lies,  by  shepherds  called  the  Rootli, 
Because  the  wood  has  been  uprooted  there. 
•Tis  where  our  Canton  bound'ries  verge  on  yours  ;— 

[To  Melciitilal 

Your  boat  will  carry  you  across  from  Schwytz. 

[To  Stauffachek 

Thither  by  lonely  bypaths  let  us  wend 
At  midnight,  and  deliberate  o'er  our  plans. 
Let  each  bring  with  him  there  ten  trusty  men, 
All  one  at  heart  with  us ;  and  then  we  may 
Consult  together  for  the  general  weal. 
And  with  God's  guidance,  fix  our  onward  course. 
Stauff.  So  let  it  be.     And  now  your  true  right  hand  . 

Yours,  too,  young  man !  and  as  we  now  three  meu 
Among  ourselves  thus  knit  our  hands  together 
In  all  sinceritv  and  truth,  e'en  so 
Shall  we  three  Cantons,  too,  together  stand 
In  victory  and  defeat,  in  life  and  death 
FuRST  and  Melchthal. 

In  life  and  death.  ,  ,       . 

[They  hold  their  hands  clasped  together  for  som4 
moments  in  silence. 

z2 


340  wiLHKr.M  TEi.r,  [act  II. 

Melchthai..  Alas,  my  old  blind  fiither! 

Thou  canst  no  more  behold  the  day  of  freedom ; 
But  thou  shalt  hear  it.     Wlien  from  Alp  to  Alp 
The  beacon  fires  throw  up  their  flaming  signs, 
And  the  proud  castles  of  the  tyrants  fall, 
Into  thy  cottage  shall  the  Switzer  burst. 
Bear  the  glad  tidings  to  thine  ear,  and  o'er 
Thy  darken'd  way  shall  Freedom's  radiance  pour. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. 
The  Mansion  of  the  Baron  of  Attinghausen  A  Gothic 
Hall,  decorated  with  escutcheons  and  helmets.  The  Bakox, 
a  grey-headed  man,  eif/hty-Jive  years  old,  tall  and  of  a  com- 
manding mien,  clad  in  a  furred  pelisse,  and  leanuig  on  a 
staff  tipped  with  chamois  horn.  KuONi  and  six  hi)uls  stand- 
ing round  him  with  rakes  and  scythes  Ulrich  of  Hudenz 
enters  in  the  costume  of  a  Knight. 

RuD.  .  .  Uncle,  I'm  here  !     Your  will  ? 

Attinghausen.  First  let  me  share, 

After  tlie  ancient  custom  of  our  house. 
The  moniing  cuj),  with  these  my  faithful  servants  I 

[He  drinks  from  a  cup,  tvhich  is  then  passed  round. 
Time  was,  I  stood  myself  in  field  and  wood, 
With  mine  own  eyes  directing  all  their  toil. 
Even  as  my  banner  led  them  in  the  fight, 
Now  I  am  only  fit  to  play  the  steward ; 
And,  if  the  genial  sun  come  not  to  me, 
I  can  no  longer  seek  it  on  the  mountains. 
Thus  slowly,  in  an  ever  narrowing  sphere, 
I  move  on  to  the  narrowest  and  tlie  last, 
Where  all  life's  pulses  cease.     I  now  am  but 
The  shadow  of  my  former  self,  and  that 
Is  fading  fast — 'twill  soon  be  but  a  name 

KuoNi  [offering  Kudenz  the  cup). 
A  pledge,  young  master ! 

[RuDENZ  hesitates  to  take  the  cup. 
Nay,  Sir,  drink  it  off! 
One  cup,  one  heart !  You  know  our  proverb,  Sii  ? 


Q  f1 

gC    i]  WILHELM    TELL. 

Atting.  Go,  children,  und  at  eve,  vihen  work  is  done. 
"      We'll  meet  and  talk  the  country  s  ^fsmess  over 

\Exeunt  berrantt 

Belted  and  plumed,  and  all  thy  bravery  on  ! 
Thou  art  for  Altdorf— for  the  castle,  boy  . 
RuD.  .  .  Yes,  uncle.     Longer  may  I  not  delay— 
Ai-riNGHAUSEN  (sitting  doicn). 

Why  m  such  haste?  Say,  are  thy  youthful  hours 
Doled  in  such  niggard  measure,  that  thou  must 
Be  chaiT  of  them  to  thy  aged  uncle? 
Rod.  .  .  I  see,  mv  presence  is  not  needed  here, 

I  am  but  as  a  stranger  in  this  house. 
ArnNGHAUSEN  irjazesji.redhj  at  him  for  a  considerable  time). 
Alas,  thou  art  indeed  !  Ala3,  that  home  ^ 

To  thee  has  grown  so  strange  !  Oh,  IJ  ly !  blv  . 
I  scarce  do  know  thee  now,  thus  deck  d  m  silks, 
The  peacock's  feather*  flaunting  in  thy  cap. 
And  purple  mantle  round  thy  shoulders  iiung ; 
Thou  look'st  upon  the  peasant  with  disdain. 
And  takest  with  a  blush  his  honest  greetuig. 
RcD      .  All  honour  due  to  him  I  gladly  pay, 

But  must  deny  the  right  he  would  usurp. 
ArriNG.  The  sore  displeasure  of  the  king  is  restmg 
Upon  the  land,  and  every  time  man  s  heart 
Is  full  of  sadness  for  the  grievous  wrongs 
We  suffer  from  our  tyrants.     Thou  alone 
Art  all  unmoved  amid  the  general  griet 
Abandoning  thv  friends,  thou  takst  thy  stand 
Beside  thy  country's  foes,  and,  as  in  scorn 
Of  our  distress,  pursuest  giddy  joys. 
Courting  the  smiles  of  princes,  all  the  while 
Thy  country  bleeds  beneath  their  cruel  scourge 
RuD        The  land  is  sore  oppress'd.  I  Imow  it,  uncle 
But  why?  Who  plunged  it  into  this  distress .'' 
A  word,  one  litde  easy  word,  might  buy 
Irstant  deliverance  from  such  dire  oppression, 
And  ^^•in  the  good  will  of  the  Emperor. 

•  The  Austrian  knichts  were  in  the  habit  of  wearing  a  plume  of  peacocks 
feathers  in  E  heffets.  After  t.e  overthrow  of  the  Austr.an  dom.r.on 
in  SwUzeriand,  it  was  made  highly  penal  to  wear  the  peacocks  feather  at 
any  public  assembly  there. 


342 


WILHELM   TBLt. 


[act  U* 


Woe  onto  those,  -who  seal  the  people  s  eyes, 
And  make  them  adverse  to  their  country's  ^ood — 
The  Kwen,  •who,  for  their  own  vile  selfish  ends, 
Are  seeking  to  prevent  the  Forest  States 
From  swearing  fealty  to  Austria's  House, 
As  all  the  countries  round  about  have  done. 
It  fits  their  humour  well,  to  take  their  seats 
Amid  tlie  nobles  on  the  Herrenbank  -f ; 
They'll  have  the  Caesar  for  their  lord,  forsooth, — 
That  is  to  say,  they'll  have  no  lord  at  all. 

Attixg.  ]\lust  I  hear  this,  and  from  thy  lips,  rash  boy ! 

RuD.  .  .  You  urged  me  to  this  answer.     Hear  me  out. 
AVhat,  uncle,  is  the  character  you've  stoop'd 
To  fill  contentedly  tlirough  life  ?    Have  you 
No  higher  pride,  than  in  these  lonely  wilds 
To  be  the  Landamman  or  Banneret f, 
The  petty  chieftain  of  a  shepherd  race  ? 
How  !  Were  it  not  a  far  more  glorious  choice, 
To  bend  in  homage  to  our  royal  lord. 
And  sv.-ell  the  princely  splendours  of  his  court, 
Than  sit  at  home,  the  peer  of  your  own  vassals, 
And  share  tlie  judgment-seat  with  vulgar  clowns? 

Atting.  Ah,  Uly,  Uly;  all  too  well  I  see, 

The  tempter's  voice  has  caught  thy  willing  ear, 
And  pour'd  its  subtle  poison  in  thy  heart. 

RuD  .  .  Yes,  I  conceal  it  not.     It  doth  offend 

My  inmost  soul,  to  hear  the  stranger's  gibes. 

That  taunt  us  wth  the  name  of  "  Peasant  Nobles  t " 

Think  you  the  heart  that's  stirring  here  can  brook, 

While  all  the  young  nobility  around 

Ai*e  reaping  lionour  under  Habsburg's  banner, 

That  I  should  loiter,  in  inglorious  ease. 

Here  on  the  heritage  my  fathers  left. 

And,  in  the  dull  routine  of  vulgar  toil. 

Lose  all  life's  glorious  spring?     In  other  lands 

Deeds  are  achieved.     A  world  of  fair  renown 

Beyond  these  mountains  stirs  in  martial  pomp. 

•  The  bench  reserveti  for  the  nobility. 

+  The  Landamman  was  an  officer  chosen  by  the  Swiss  Gcmeinde,  or  Diet, 
to  preside  over  them.  The  Banneret  was  an  officer  entrusted  with  the 
keeping  cf  the  State  Banner,  and  such  others  as  were  taken  in  battle. 


Atting 


gC.  I.]  WILTIELM   TELL.  ^'^^ 

My  helm  and  shield  are  rusting  in  the  hall ; 

The  martial  trumpet's  spirit-stirnng  blast, 

The  herald  s  call,  inviting  to  the  lists, 

Rouse  not  the  echoes  of  these  vales,  where  nought. 

Save  cowherd  s  horn  and  cattle  bell,  is  heard, 

In  one  unvarying  dull  monotony. 

Deluded  boy,  seduced  by  empty  show 

Despise  the  land  that  gave  thee  birth  !  Ashamed 

Of  the  fiood  ancient  customs  of  thy  sires  . 

The  day  will  come,  when  thou,  with  burning  tears, 

Wilt  long  for  home,  and  for  thy  native  hills, 

And  that  dear  melody  of  tuneful  herds. 

Which  now,  in  proud  disgust,  thou  dost  despise . 

A  day  when  thou  wilt  drink  its  tones  in  sadness, 

Healing  their  music  in  a  foreign  land. 

Oh  !  potent  is  the  spell  that  binds  to  home . 

No  no,  the  cold,  false  world  is  not  for  thee. 

At  the  proud  court,  with  thy  true  heart,  thou  wilt 

For  ever  feel  a  stranger  among  strangers. 

The  world  asks  virtues  of  far  other  stamp 

Than  thou  hast  learned  within  these  simple  valos. 

But  <^o— go  thither,— barter  thy  free  soul, 

Take  land  in  fief,  become  a  prince  s  vassal, 

Wliere  thou  mighfst  be  lord  paramount,  and  prmce 

Of  all  thine  own  unburden'd  heritage  . 

0  V\y,  Uly,  stay  among  thy  people ! 
Go  not  to  Altdorf.  Oh,  abandon  not 
The  sacred  cause  of  thy  wrong d  native  laud. 

1  am  the  last  of  all  my  race.     My  mme 
Ends  with  me.     Yonder  hang  my  helm  and  shield . 
Thev  will  be  buried  with  me  m  the  grave*. 
And  must  I  think,  when  yielding  up  my  breath, 
That  thou  but  wait'st  the  closing  of  mine  eyes, 
To  stoop  thy  knee  to  this  new  feudal  court. 
And  take  in  vassalage  from  Austria  s  hands 
The  noble  lands,  which  I  from  God  received, 
Free  and  unfetter'd  as  the  mountain  air. 

Run        'Tis  vain  for  us  to  strive  against  the  king. 

The  world  pertains  to  him :— shall  we  alone. 


841  WII.IIKt.M    TELL  [act  H. 

[n  mad  presumptuous  obstinacy,  strive 
To  break  that  mighty  chaiu  of  lands,  which  he 
Hath  drawn  around  us  with  Ills  giant  grasp. 
His  are  the  markets,  his  the  courts, — his  too 
Tlie  higliways  ;  nay,  the  very  carrier's  horse, 
Tliat  trartics  on  the  Gotthardt,  pays  him  toll. 
By  his  dominions,  as  within  a  net, 
We  are  enclosed,  and  girded  round  about. 
— And  will  the  Empire  shield  us  ?  Say,  can  it 
Protect  itself  'gainst  Austria's  growing  power? 
To  God,  and  not  to  emperors  must  we  look! 
What  store  can  on  their  promises  be  placed, 
When  they,  to  meet  their  own  necessities, 
Can  pawn,  and  even  alienate  the  towns 
That  tlee  for  shelter  'neath  the  Eagle's  wings*? 
No,  uncle !  It  is  wise  and  wholesome  prudence. 
In  times  like  these,  when  faction's  all  abroad, 
To  own  attachment  to  some  mighty  chief. 
The  imperial  crown's  transferred  from  line  to  linef. 
It  has  no  memory  for  faithful  service  : 
But  to  secure  the  favour  of  these  great 
Hereditary  masters,  were  to  sow 
Seed  for  a  future  harvest. 
AiTiNGHAUSEN.  Art  SO  wise  ? 

Wilt  thou  see  clearer  than  thy  noble  sires. 
Who  battled  for  fair  freedom's  costly  gem, 
With  life,  and  fortune,  and  heroic  arm? 
Sail  down  the  lake  to  Lucern,  there  inquire. 
How  Austria's  rule  doth  weigh  the  Cantons  down. 
Soon  she  will  come  to  count  our  slieep,  our  cattle, 
To  portion  out  the  Alps,  e'en  to  their  summits. 
And  in  our  own  free  woods  to  hinder  us 
From  striking  domi  the  eagle  or  the  stag ; 
To  set  her  tolls  on  eveiy  bridge  and  gate. 
Impoverish  us,  to  swell  her  lust  of  sway. 
And  drain  our  dearest  blood  to  feed  her  wars 

•  This  frequently  occurred.  But  in  the  event  of  an  imperial  city  being 
tnortgnged  for  the  purpose  of  raising  money,  it  lost  its  freedom,  and  was  co»- 
Bidered  as  put  out  of  the  realm. 

f  An  allusion  to  the  circumstance  of  the  Imperial  Crown  not  being 
hereditary,  but  conferred  by  election  on  one  of  the  Counts  of  the  Empire, 


SC.  ].]  WII.HELM    TELL.  ^^^ 

No  if  our  blood  must  flow,  let  it  be  shed 
In  our  owu  cause  !     We  purchase  liberty 
Move  cheaply  far  than  bondage. 
p  ^    , ,  "What  can  we, 

■a-PLNZ.^^  shepherd  race,  against  great  Alberts  hosts? 
An-iNG   Learn,  foolish  boy,  to  know  this  shepherd  race  . 
J  know  them,  I  have  led  them  on  ni  fagbt,— 
I  saw  them  in  the  battle  at  Favenz. 
Austria  will  try.  forsooth,  to  force  on  us 
A  yoke  we  are  determined  not  to  bear  . 
Oh,  learn  to  feel  from  what  a  race  thou  rt  sprung! 
Cast  not,  for  tinsel  trash  and  idle  show, 
The  precious  jewel  of  thy  worth  away. 
To  be  the  chieftain  of  a  free  born  race. 
Bound  to  thee  only  bv  their  unbought  love, 
Eeadv  to  stand— to  fight-to  die  with  thee, 
Be  tliat  thy  pride,  be  that  thy  noblest  boast . 
Knit  to  thy  heart  the  ties  of  kindred— home— 
Clincr  to  the  land,  the  dear  land  of  thy  sires, 
Grapple  to  that  with  thy  whole  heart  and  soul ! 
Thv  power  is  rooted  deep  and  strongly  here. 
But  in  von  stranger  world  thou'lt  stand  alone, 
A  trembling  reed  beat  down  by  every  blast. 
Oh  come!   'tis  long  since  we  have  seen  thee,  Uly  ! 
Tarrv  but  this  one  day.     Only  to-day 
Go  not  to  Altdorf.     Wilt  thou  ?  Not  to-dav  ! 
For  this  one  dav,  bestow  thee  on  thy  friends. 

ITakes  his  liatid 

RuD.     .  I  gave  mv  word.     Unhand  me !  I  am  bound. 

^TT\^^.  (drops  his  hand  and  says sternhj) 

Bound,  didst  thou  sa  V  V     Oh  yes,  unhappy  boy, 
Thou  art  indeed.     But  not  by  word  or  oath. 
'Tis  bv  the  silken  mesh  of  love  thou  rt  bound. 

Ay,  hide  thee,  as  thou  wilt.     'Tis  she,  I  know, 
Bertha  of  Bruneck,  draws  thee  to  the  court ;     _ 
Tis  she  that  chains  thee  to  the  Emperor  s  servico, 
Thou  think'st  to  win  the  noble  knightly  maid 
Bv  thv  apostacv.     Be  not  deceived. 
She  is  held  out  before  thee  as  a  lure  ; 
But  never  meant  for  innocence  like  thine 


34G  WII.IIELM    TELL  [AOT    11. 

Rod.  . .  Ko  more,  I've  heard  enough.     So  fare  you  -well. 

[Exit 

Attixg.  Stay,  Uly  !    Stay  !     Rash  boy,  he's  gone  !     I  can 
Nor  hold  him  back,  nor  save  him  from  destruction 
And  so  the  Wolfshot  has  deserted  us  ; — 
Otliers  will  follow  his  example  soon. 
This  foreign  witcheiy,  sweeping  o'er  our  hills, 
Tears  with  its  potent  spell  our  youth  away ; 

0  luckless  hour,  when  men  and  manners  strange 
Into  these  calm  and  happy  vallej's  came. 

To  warp  our  primitive  and  guileless  ways. 
The  new  is  pressing  on  with  might.     The  old, 
The  good,  the  simple,  fleeteth  fast  away. 
New  times  come  on.     A  race  is  springing  up. 
That  think  not  as  their  fathers  thought  befoie ! 
What  do  I  here?     All,  all  are  in  tlie  grave 
With  whom  erewhile  I  moved,  and  held  converse ; 
My  age  has  long  been  laid  beneath  the  sod : 
Happy  the  man,  who  may  not  live  to  see 
What  shall  be  done  by  those  that  follow  me  ! 

Scene  II. 

A  meadow  surrotinded  by  high  rods  and  wooded  (/roiiiid. 
On  the  rocks  are  tracks,  ivith  rails  and  ladders,  hij  which  the 
peasants  are  aftenvards  seen  descending.  In  the  hack-ground 
the  lake  is  observed,  and  over  it  a  moon  rainbow  in  the  e<rrh, 
part  of  the  scene.  The  prospect  is  closed  by  lofty  vwnntains, 
with  glacier.t  rising  behind  them.  The  stage  is  dark  ■  but 
the  lake  and  glaciers  glisten  in  the  moonlight. 

MeLCHTHAL,    BaUM GARTEN,    WiNKELRIED,    MeYER  VON    SaR 

NEN,     Burkhart     am     Buhel,     Arnold     von     Sewa. 
Klaus  von  der  Flue,  and  four  other  peasants,  all  armed 

Melchthal  (behind  the  scenes). 

The  mountain  pass  is  open.     Follow  me ! 

1  see  the  rock,  and  little  cross  upon  it : 
This  is  the  spot ;  here  is  the  Rootli. 

[The2J  enter  with  torchei 
WiNKELRIED  Hark! 

Sewa.     The  coast  is  clear 


Q4-7 

SC.  11.1  VVILIIELM   TELL 

i^Ij,^j,jj^  None  of  our  comrades  coroe  ? 

'  We  ai-e  the  first,  we  UnterAvaldeners. 
Melch.  How  far  is't  i'  the  night? 
jj^^.jj  The  beacon  watch 

Upon  the  Selisberg  has  just  called  two. 

[^4  bell  is  heard  at  a  distance 

Meyer.  Hush !  Hark !  ,       v        .•    i  .11 

guijPL  The  forest  chapel  s  matin  bell 

Chimes  clearly  o'er  the  lake  from  S\Yitzerland. 
Yo^  F    The  air  is  clear,  and  bears  the  sound  so  far. 
Melch.  Go,  you  and  you,  and  light  some  broken  boughs, 
Let's  bid  them  welcome  with  a  cheeriul  blaze. 

[Tico  2)easants  exeurd 
Sfwa.     The  moon  shines  fair  to-night.     Beneath  its  beams 

The  lake  reposes,  bright  as  burnish  d  steel. 
Bdhel.  They'll  have  an  easy  passage. 
Wink,  [pointing  to  the  lake).  Ha !  look  theie  I 

See  you  nothing  ?  .      .    •,     j , 

Meyer.  mat  is  it ?  Ay,  indeed ! 

A  rainbow  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 
Melch.  Formed  by  the  bright  reflection  of  the  moon! 
Von  F.  a  sign  most  strange  and  wonderful,  indeed . 
Many  there  be,  who  ne'er  have  seen  the  like 
Sewa.     Tis  doubled,  see,  a  paler  one  above  ! 
Baum.     a  boat  is  gliding  yonder  right  beneath  it. 
Melch.  That  must  be  Wenier  Stauffacher  !     I  knew 
The  worthy  patriot  would  not  tany  long. 

[Goes  ii-ith  Baumgarten  toirards  the  shore 
Meyer.  The  Uri  men  are  like  to  be  the  last. 
Bohel  They're  forced  to  take  a  winding  circuit  through 
The  mountains ;  for  the  Viceroy's  spies  are  out. 

[In  the  meanu-hile  the  tiro  peasants  have  kmdlei 
afire  in  the  centre  of  the  stage. 
Melch.  (on  the  shore). 

Who's  there?  The  word?  ,      ,, 

Stauff.  I  from  belon').  Friends  of  the  country. 

[All  retire  up  the  staqe,  towards  the  party  landttn/ 
from  the  boat.  Enter  Stauffacher,  Itel  Red- 
IKG,  Hans  auf  der  Mauer,  Jorg  im  Hofe, 
Conrad  Hunn,  Uijhch  der  Schmidt,  Jost  yon 
Weiler,  and  three  other  peasanU,  armed. 


348  WlI.IIIil.M    TKLL  [act  II. 

All  "Welcome ! 

[Vfhile  the  rest  remain  hehind  exchanging  greet 

ings,  Melchtiiai,  comes  foncard  with  Stauf- 

FACHER. 

Mklco.  Oh  worthy  Stauffacher,  I've  look"cl  hut  now 
On  him,  who  coukl  not  look  on  me  again. 
I've  laid  ni}'  hands  upon  his  rayless  ej-es, 
And  on  theii*  vacant  orbits  swoni  a  vow 
Of  vengeance,  only  to  be  cool'd  in  blood. 

SlAUFF   Speak  not  of  vengeance.     We  are  here,  to  meet 
The  threatened  evil,  not  to  avenge  the  past. 
Now  tell  me  what  you've  done,  and  what  secured, 
To  aid  the  common  cause  in  Unterwald, 
How  stand  the  peasantry  disposed,  and  how 
Yourself  escaped  the  wiles  of  treachery  ? 

Met.ch.  Througli  the  Surenen's  fearful  mountain  chain, 
Where  dreary  ice-fields  stretch  on  eveiy  side, 
And  sound  is  none,  save  the  hoarse  vulture's  cry, 
I  reacli'd  the  Alpine  ])asture,  where  the  herds 
From  Uri  and  from  Engelberg  resort, 
And  turn  their  cattle  forth  to  graze  in  common. 
Still  as  I  went  along,  I  slaked  my  thirst 
AVith  the  coarse  oozings  of  tlie  lofty  glacier. 
That  thro'  the  crevices  come  foaming  down. 
And  turned  to  rest  me  in  the  herdsmen's  cots*. 
Where  I  was  host  and  guest,  until  I  gain'd 
The  cheerful  homes  and  social  haunts  of  men. 
Already  througli  these  distant  vales  had  spread 
The  rumour  of  this  last  atrocity ; 
And  wheresoe'er  I  went,  at  eveiy  door, 
Ivind  words  and  gentle  looks  were  there  to  greet  me 
I  found  these  sim])le  spirits  all  in  arms 
Against  our  rulers'  tyramious  encroachments. 
For  as  their  Alps  through  each  succeeding  year 
Yield  the  same  roots, — their  streams  flow  ever  on 
In  the  same  channels,— nay,  the  clouds  and  winds 
The  selfsame  course  unalterably  pursue, 

*  Tliese  are  the  cots,  or  shealings,  erected  by  the  herdsmen  for  shelter, 
while  pasturing  their  herds  on  the  mountains  during  the  summer.  These 
are  left  deserted  in  winter,  during  which  period  Melclithal'B  journey  was 
taken 


Q4.Q 

gc^  Ijl  WILHELM   TELL. 

So  have  old  customs  there,  from  sire  to  son, 

Been  handed  down,  imclianging  and  unchanged ; 

Nor  will  they  brook  to  swerve  or  turn  aside 

From  the  fixed  even  tenor  of  their  life. 

With  c^rasp  of  their  hard  hands  they  welcomed  me,— 

Took  from  the  walls  their  rusty  falchions  down,— 

And  from  their  eves  the  soul  of  valour  flash  d 

With  joyful  lustre,  as  I  spoke  those  names, 

Sacred  to  everv  peasant  in  the  mountanis. 

Your  o%ra  and  "Walter  Ftirst's.     Whate'er  your  voice 

Should  dictate  as  the  right,  they  swore  to  do ; 

And  you  they  swore  to  follow  e'en  to  death. 

—So  sped  I'on  from  house  to  house,  secure 

In  the  guest's  sacred  privilege  ;— and  when 

I  reached  at  last  the  valley  of  my  home, 

Wliere  dwell  my  kinsmen.  scatter"d  far  and  near— 

And  when  I  found  my  father,  stript  and  blind. 

Upon  the  stranger's  straw,  fed  by  the  alms 

Of  charity 

Stauffacher.      '  Great  Heaven!  ,  t  „ott 

Melcuthal.  .,.      ^et  wept  I  not  I 

No— not  in  weak  and  unavailmg  tears 
Spent  I  the  force  of  my  fierce  burning  anguish  ; 
Deep  in  my  bosom,  like  some  precious  treasure. 
1  lock'd  it  fast,  and  thought  on  deeds  alone. 
Through  every  winding  of  the  hills  I  crept,— 
No  valley  so  remote  but  I  explored  it ; 
Nay,  even  at  the  glacier's  ice-clad  base, 
1  sought  and  found  the  homes  of  living  men  ;     ^ 
And  still,  where'er  mv  wandering  footsteps  tumd, 
The  selfsame  hatred  of  these  tyrants  met  me. 
For  even  there,  at  vegetation's  verge,  _ 

Where  the  nurab'd  earth  is  barren  of  all  fruits. 
Their  grasping  hands  had  been  stretch  d  forth  foi 

plunder. 
Into  the  hearts  of  all  this  honest  mce, 
The  story  of  my  wrongs  struck  deep,  and  now 
They,  to  a  man,  are  ours ;  both  heart  and  hand. 
Stauff  Great  things,  indeed,  you've  wrought  m  little  timo. 
Melch  I  did  still  more  than  this.     The  fortresses, 


350  W..LHE1.M   TELI-.  [aCT  II. 

Kossberg  and  Sariien,  arc  the  country's  dread; 
For  from  behind  their  rocky  ■walls  the  foe 
Swoops,  as  the  eagle  from  his  eyrie,  down, 
And,  safe  himself,  spreads  havoc  o'er  the  land 
With  my  own  eyes  I  wish'd  to  weigh  its  strengtU, 
So  went  to  Sarnen,  and  explored  the  castle. 

Staufk.  How  !  Risk  thyself  e'en  in  the  tiger's  den? 

Melch.  Disguised  in  pilgrim's  weeds  I  entered  it ; 
I  saw  the  Viceroy  feasting  at  his  board- 
Judge  if  I'm  master  of  myself  or  no ! 
I  saw  the  tyrant,  and  I  slew  him  not ! 

giAUFF.  Fortune,  indeed,  has  smiled  upon  your  boldness. 

[Meamchile   the    others   have    arrived   and   join 
Melchthal  and  Stauffacher. 
Yet  tell  me  now,  I  pray,  who  are  the  friends, 
The  worthy  men,  who  came  along  with  you? 
]\Iake  me  acquainted  with  them,  that  we  may 
Speak  frankly,  man  to  man,  and  heart  to  heart. 

Meyer.  In  the  three  Cantons,  who,  sir,  knows  not  you? 
Meyer  of  Sarnen  is  my  name  ;  and  this 
Is  S truth  of  Winkelried,  my  sister's  son. 

Stauff.  No  unknown  name.  A  Winkelried  it  was. 
Who  slew  the  dragon  in  the  fen  at  W^eiler, 
And  lost  his  life  in  the  encounter,  too. 

Wink.    That,  Master  Stauffacher,  was  my  grandfather. 

Melch.  (  fointing  to  tico  peasants). 

These  two  are  men  belonging  to  the  convent 
Of  Engelberg,  and  live  behind  the  forest. 
You'll  not  think  ill  of  them,  because  they're  serfs, 
And  sit  not  free  u])on  the  soil,  like  us. 
They  love  the  land,  and  bear  a  good  repute. 

Stauffacher  {to  them). 

Give  me  your  hands.     He  has  good  cause  for  thanks, 
That  unto  no  man  owes  his  body's  service. 
But  worth  is  worth,  no  matter  where  'tis  found 

HuKN.     That  is  Uerr  Reding,  sir,  our  old  Landammao. 

MicYKR.  I  know  him  well.     There  is  a  suit  between  us, 
About  a  ])iece  of  ancient  heritage. 
Uerr  Reding,  we  are  enemies  in  court, 
Here  we  are  one  [Shakes  his  hand 


^    jj -I  WILHELM   TELL.  ^"^^ 

Staoffacher.  That's  v,e\\  and  bravely  said 

Wink     Listen  1  They  come.     Hark  to  the  horn  of  Un ! 

[On  the  rirjht  and  left  armed  men  are  seen  descend- 
ing the  rocks  with  torches. 
Wauer  Look,  is  not  that  God's  pious  servant  there? 
A  worthy  priest !     The  terrors  of  the  night. 
And  the  way's  pains  and  perils  scare  not  him 
A  foithful  shepherd  caring  for  his  flock. 
Baum     The  Sacrist  follows  him,  and  Walter  Fiirst. 
But  where  is  Tell?  1  do  not  sec  him  there. 

[Walter  Fukst,  Rosselmann  f/ie  Pastor,  Peter- 
MAKN  the  Sacrist,  KuoNi  the  Shepherd,  Werni 
the  Huntsman,  Ruodi  the  Fishennan,  and  Jive 
other  countrymen,   thirty-three  in  all,  advance 
and  take  their  i^laccs  round  the  fire. 
FURST     Thus  must  we,  on  the  soil  our  fathers  left  us. 
Creep  forth  hv  stealth  to  meet  like  murderers 
And  in  the  night,  that  should  her  mantle  lend 
Only  to  crime  and  black  conspiracy, 
Assert  our  own  good  rights,  which  yet  are  clear 
As  is  the  radiance  of  the  noonday  sun. 
MixcH.  So  be  it.     What  is  woven  in  gloom  of  night 
Shall  free  and  boldly  meet  the  moniing  light 
EossEL.  Confederates!  listen  to  the  words  which  God 
Inspires  my  heart  withal.     Here  we  are  met. 
To  represent  the  general  weal.     In  us 
Are  all  the  people  of  the  land  convened. 
Then  let  us  hold  the  Diet,  as  of  old, 
And  as  we're  wont  in  peaceful  times  to  do. 
The  time's  necessitv  be  our  excuse, 
If  there  be  aught  informal  in  this  meeting. 
Still  wheresoe'er  men  strike  for  justice,  there 
Is  God   and  now  beneath  his  heav  n  we  stand 
Stauff.  -Tis  well  advised.— Let  us,  then,  hold  the  Diet, 
According  to  our  ancient  usages. — 
Though  it  be  night,  there's  sunshine  in  our  cause. 
Met  oil   Few  Though  our  numbers  be,  the  hearts  are  hero 

Of  the  whole  people  ;  here  the  best  are  met. 
HcNN.    The  ancient  books  may  not  be  near  at  hand. 
Yet  are  they  graven  iu  our  inmost  hearts. 


352  WILHELK    TELL.  [ACT  II. 

KossEii.  'Tis  well.     And  now,  then,  let  a  ring  be  formed. 

And  plant  the  swords  of  power  within  the  ground  ♦ 
Mauer    Let  the  Landamman  step  into  his  place, 

And  by  his  side  his  secretaries  stand. 
SACr.i8T  There  are  three  Cantons  here.  Which  hath  the  right 

To  give  the  head  to  the  united  Council  ? 

Schwytz  may  contest  that  dignity  with  Uri, 

We  Unterwald'ners  enter  not  the  field. 
Mklch.  We  stand  aside.     We  are  but  suppliants  here, 

Invoking  aid  from  our  more  potent  friends. 
Stauff.  Let  Uii  have  the  sword.     Her  banner  takes, 

In  battle,  the  precedence  of  our  own. 
FuRST     Schwytz,  then,  must  shai'e  the  honour  of  the  sword ; 

For  she's  the  honoured  ancestor  of  all 
PiOSSEL.  Let  me  arrange  this  generous  controvei'sy. 

Uri  shall  lead  in  battle — Schw^i-z  in  Council. 
FuKST  {yives  Stauffacher  his  hand). 

Then  take  your  place. 
Stauffacher.  Not  I.     Some  older  man. 

HoiE      Ulrich,  the  Smitli,  is  the  most  aged  here. 
AIauer.  a  worthy  man,  but  he  is  not  a  freeman ; 

— No  bondman  can  be  judge  in  Switzerland. 
Stauff.  Is  not  Herr  Reding  here,  our  old  Landamman? 

Whei-e  can  we  find  a  worthier  man  than  he? 
FuRST.    Let  him  be  Amman  and  the  Diet's  chief! 

You  that  agree  with  me,  hold  up  your  hands! 

\All  hold  up  their  right  hands 
Reding  ystejipin/j  into  the  centre). 

I  cannot  lay  my  hands  upon  the  books ; 

But  by  yon  everlasting  stars  I  swear. 

Never  to  swerve  from  justice  and  the  right. 

[Tlie  tuo  siiords  are  placed  be/ore  hitii,  and  a  circU 
formed;  Schwytz  in  the  centre y  Uri  on  his  right 
Unterivald  on  his  left. 
Reding  {resting  on  his  battle  suord). 

Wliy,  at  the  hour  when  spirits  walk  the  earth. 

Meet  the  three  Cantons  of  the  mountains  here, 

*   It  was  the  custom  at  the  Meetings  of  the  Landcs  Gemeinde,  or  Diet,  to 
•et  8W  )rds  iipriglit  in  the  ground  as  emblems  of  authority. 


g^^  jj  1  --WILHELM  TELL.  353 

Upon  the  lake's  inhospitable  shore? 
And  what  the  purport  of  the  new  alliance 
We  here  contract  beneath  the  stariT  Heaven.'' 
Stauffacher  [entenng  the  circle). 

No  new  alliance  do  we  now  contract, 
But  one  our  fathers  framed,  in  ancient  times, 
We  purpose  to  renew !     For  know,  confederates. 
Though  mountain  ridge  and  lake  divide  our  bounds 
And  every  Canton  s  ruled  by  its  ovm  laws 
Yet  are  we  but  one  race,  bora  of  one  blood. 
And  all  are  children  of  one  common  home 
Wink.     Then  is  the  burden  of  our  legends  true, 

That  we  came  hither  from  a  distant  land  ! 
Oh  tell  us  what  you  laiow,  that  our  new  league 
May  reap  fresh  vigour  from  the  leagues  of  old. 
Stauff  Hear,  then,  what  aged  herdsmen  tell.     There  dwelt 
A  mi'^hty  people  in  the  land  that  lies      _ 
Back°to  the  north.     The  scourge  of  famine  came ; 
And  in  this  strait  twas  publicly  resolved. 
That  each  tenth  man,  on  whom  the  lot  might  fall 
Should  leave  the  country      They  obey  d-and  forth, 
W^ith  loud  lamentings,  men  and  women  went, 
A  mighty  host ;  and  to  the  south  moved  on. 
Cutting  their  way  through  G  era  any  by  the  sword, 
Until  thev  gained  these  pine-clad  hills  of  ours ; 
Nor  stopp'd  they  ever  on  their  forward  course, 
Till  at  the  shaggy  dell  they  halted,  where 
The  Miita  flows  through  its  luxuriant  meads 
No  trace  of  human  creature  met  their  eye, 
Save  one  poor  hut  upon  the  desert  shore. 
Where  dwelt  a  lonely  man,  and  kept  the  feriy. 
A  tempest  raged-the  lake  rose  mountains  high 
And  barr'd  their  further  progress.     Thereupon 
They  view'd  the  country-found  it  rich  m  wood. 
Discover'd  goodly  springs,  and  felt  as  they 
Were  in  their  owi  dear  native  land  once  more. 
Then  they  resolved  to  settle  on  the  spot; 
Erected  there  the  ancient  town  of  Sch\\7tz ; 
And  many  a  day  of  toil  had  they  to  clear 
The  tangled  brake  and  forest's  spreading  roots 
Meanwhile  their  numbers  grew,  the  soil  became 


2   A 


354  WILIJELM   TELL,  [aCT  II. 

Unequal  to  sustain  them,  and  they  cross'd 

To  the  black  mountain,  far  as  Weissland,  where, 

Conceal 'd  behind  eternal  walls  of  ice, 

Another  people  speak   another  tongue. 

They  built  the  village  Stanz,  beside  the  Kernwald; 

The  village  Altdorf,  in  the  vale  of  Reuss  ; 

Yet,  ever  mindful  of  their  parent  stem, 

The  men  of  Schwytz,  from  all  the  stranger  raca, 

That  since  that  time  have  settled  in  the  land. 

Each  other  recognize.     Their  hearts  still  know, 

And  beat  fraternally  to  kindred  blood. 

[Extends  his  hand  right  and  left 

Maoer.  Ay,  we  are  all  one  heart,  one  blood,  one  race ! 

All  (Joining  hands). 

We  are  one  people,  and  will  act  as  one. 

Stauff.  The  nations  round  us  bear  a  foreign  yoke ; 
For  they  have  yielded  to  the  conqueror. 
Nay,  e'en  within  our  frontiers  may  be  found 
Some,  that  owe  villein  service  to  a  lord, 
A  race  of  bonded  serfs  from  sire  to  son. 
But  we,  the  genuine  race  of  ancient  Swiss, 
Have  kept  our  freedom  from  the  first  till  now. 
Never  to  princes  have  we  bow'd  the  knee ; 
Freely  we  sought  protection  of  the  Empire. 

EossEL.  Freeiy  we  sought  it — freely  it  was  given. 

'Tis  so  set  do\^Ti  in  Emperor  Frederick's  charter. 

Stauff.  For  the  most  free  have  still  some  feudal  lord. 
There  must  be  still  a  chief,  a  judge  supreme, 
To  whom  appeal  may  lie,  in  case  of  strife. 
And  therefore  was  it,  that  our  sires  allow'd. 
For  what  they  had  recover'd  from  the  waste, 
This  hoijour  to  the  Emperor,  the  lord 
Of  all  the  Gei'man  and  Italian  soil ; 
And,  like  the  other  free  men  of  his  realm. 
Engaged  to  aid  him  with  their  swords  in  war; 
And  this  alone  should  be  the  free  man's  duty. 
To  guard  the  Empire  that  keeps  guard  for  him. 

Melch.  He's  but  a  slave  that  would  acknowledge  more. 

Stauff.  They  followed,  when  the  Heribann*  went  forth, 

•  The  Heribann  was  a  muster  of  warriors  similar  to  the  arnere  ban  of 
France. 


SC.  II.]  WILHELM  TELL. 


355 


The  imperial  standard,  and  they  fought  its  battles ! 
To  Italy  they  mai-chd  in  arms,  to  place 
The  Cajsars'  crown  upon  the  Emperor "s  head. 
But  still  at  home  they  ruled  themselves  iu  peace, 
By  their  own  laws  and  ancient  usages. 
The  Emperor's  only  right  was  to  adjudge 
The  penalty  of  death  ;   he  therefore  named 
Some  mighty  noble  as  his  delegate. 
That  had  no  stake   or  interest  in  the  laad 
He  was  call'd  in,  when  doom  was  to  be  pass'd, 
i  And,  in  the  face  of  day,  pronounced  decree. 

Clear  and  distinctly,  fearing  no  man's  liate. 
Wliat  traces  here,  "that  we  are  bondsmen?     Speak, 
If  there  be  any  can  gainsay  my  words  ! 

HoFE.     No!  You  have  spoken  but  tiie  simple  tnith  ; 
We  never  stoop'd  beneath  a  tyrants  yoke. 

Stauff  Even  to  the  Emperor  we  refused  obedience. 

When  he  gave  judgment  in  the  church's  favour; 
For  when  the  Abbey  of  Einsiedlen  claimed 

■  The  Alp  our  fathers  and  ourselves  had  grazed, 

■  And  showed  an  ancient  charter,  which  bestowed 
The  land  on  them  as  being  owmerless — 
For  our  existence  there  had  been  concealed — 
What  was  our  answer''  This.     "  The  grant  is  void, 
Xo  Emperor  can  bestow  what  is  our  own  : 
And  if  the  Empire  shall  deny  us  ji  stice. 
We  can,  within  our  mountains,  right  ourselves  !" 
Thus  s])ake  our  fathers !     And  shall  we  endure 
The  shame  and  infamy  of  this  new  j'oke. 
And  from  the  vassal  brook  what  never  kir.g 
Dared,  in  the  fulness  of  his  power,  attempt? 
This  soil  we  have  created  for  ourselves, 

i  Bv  the  hard  labour  of  our  hands  ;  we've  changed 

I  The  giant  forest,  that  was  erst  the  haunt 

I  Of  savage  bears,  into  a  hom ;  foi-  man  ; 

M  Extirpated  the  dragon's  brood,  that  wont 

I  To  rise,  distent  with  venom,  from  the  swamps ; 

■  Rent  the  thick  misty  canopy  that  hung 

Its  blighting  vapours  on  the  dreary  waste  ; 
Blasted  the  solid  rock  ;  o'er  the  abyss 
Thrown  the  firm  bridge  for  the  wayfaring  man 

2  A  2 


356  WIUIELM    TELL.  [ACT  II. 

By  the  possession  of  a  thousand  years 
The  soil  is  ours.     And  shall  an  alien  lord. 
Himself  a  vassal,  dare  to  venture  here. 
On  our  own  hearths  insult  us, — and  attempt 
To  forge  the  chains  of  bondage  for  our  hands, 
And  do  us  shame  on  our  own  proper  soil  ? 
Is  there  no  help  against  such  wrong  as  this  ? 

[Great  sensation  among  the  people 
Yes  !  there's  a  limit  to  the  despot's  power ! 
When  the  oppress'd  looks  round  in  vain  for  justice. 
When  his  sore  burden  may  no  more  be  home. 
With  fearless  heart  be  makes  appeal  to  Heaven, 
And  thence  brings  down  his  everlasting  rights, 
Which  there  abide,  inalienably  his. 
And  indestructible  as  are  the  stars. 
Nature's  primaeval  state  returns  again. 
Where  man  stands  hostile  to  his  fellow  man; 
And  if  all  other  njeans  shall  fail  his  need. 
One  last  resource  remains — his  own  good  sword. 
Our  dearest  treasures  call  to  us  for  aid, 
Ac^ainst  the  oppressor's  violence ;   we  stand 
For  country,  home,  for  wives,  for  children  here ! 

All  (clashing  their  sivords). 

Here    stand    we    for    our    homes,    our   wives,    aud 
children. 

RossELMANN  {stepping  into  the  circle). 

Bethink  ye  well,  before  ye  draw  the  sword. 
Some  peaceful  compromise  may  yet  be  made  ; 
Speak  but  one  word,  and  at  your  feet  youll  see 
The  men  who  now  oppress  you      Take  the  terms 
That  have  been  often  tendered  you  ;  renounce 
The  Empire,  and  to  Austria  swear  allegiance ! 

Mauer.  What  says  the  priest  ?  To  Austria  allegiauce  ? 

liuHEL.  Hearken  not  to  him ! 

WiNKELRiED.  'Tis  a  traitor  s  counsel. 

His  country's  foe ! 

Redino  Peace,  peace,  confederates  I 

Serva.   Homage  to  Austria,  after  wrongs  like  these ! 

Flue.     Shall  Austria  extort  from  us  by  force. 

What  we  denied  to  kindness  and  entreaty  ? 

Meteb  Then  should  we  all  be  slaves,  deservedly. 


SC.  II.  J  WILHELM  TEIX.  357 

Mauer  Yes'  Let  liim  forfeit  all  a  Switzer's  rights, 

*  Who  talks  of  peldiag  to  the  yoke  of  Austria  . 
I  stand  on  this,  Landamman.     Let  this  be 

The  foremost  of  our  laws  !  , 

Even  so      AMioeer 
Melchthal  .       .     "     ,       ,„ 

Shall  talk  of  tamely  beanng  Austria  s  yoke, 
Let  him  be  stripp'd  of  all  his  rights  and  honours; 
And  no  man  hence  receive  him  at  his  heartJi . 
All  [raising  their  right  hands). 

A<n-eed  !  Be  this  the  law !  ^ 

REm^oic^-terapanse).  The  .aw  it  is^ 

HossEL.  Now  you  are  free-by  this  law  you  are  free. 
Never  shall  Austria  obtain  by  force 
What  she  has  fail'd  to  gain  by  friendly  suit. 
Wetl.     On  with  the  order  of  the  day !  Proceed ! 
Reding.  Confederates  !  Have  all  gentler  means  been  tried  ? 
Perchance  the  Erap'ror  knows  not  ol  our  wrongs  . 
It  may  not  be  his  will  that  thus  we  sutler  : 
Were  it  not  well  to  make  one  last  attempt, 
And  lay  our  grievances  before  the  throne. 
Ere  we  unsheath  the  sword  ?     Force  is  at  best 
A  fearful  thing  e'en  in  a  righteous  cause ; 
God  only  helps,  when  maji  can  help  no  more. 

StAUFF.  (to  KONRAD  HhNN).  ell 

Here  vou  can  give  us  information.     bpeaR . 
HoNN     I  was  at  Rheinfeld,  at  the  Emperor's  palace, 
Deputed  by  the  Cantons  to  complain 
Of  the  oppressions  of  these  governors. 
And  claim  the  charter  of  our  ancient  freedom, 
Wliich  each  new  king  till  now  has  ratited. 
I  found  the  envoys  there  of  many  a  town, 
From  Suabia  and  the  valley  of  the  Khine, 
Who  all  received  their  parchments  as  they  wish  d. 
And  straight  went  home  again  with  merry  heart. 
They  sent  for  me,  vour  envoy,  to  the  council      ^ 
Where  I  was  soon  dismissal  with  empty  corafor.; 
"  The  Emperor  at  present  was  engaged  ;^ 
Some  other  time  he  would  attend  to  us ! 
I  tum'd  away,  and  passing  through  the  haJl, 
With  heavy  heart,  in  a  recess  I  saw 


358  WILHF.LM   TELL.  [aCT  11 

The  Grand  Duke  John  *  in  tears,  and  by  his  side 

The  noble  lords  of  Wart  and  Tegerfeld, 

Who  bcckon'd  me,  and  said,  "  Redress  yourselveft 

]:Ixpect  not  justice  from  the  Emperor. 

Does  he  not  plunder  his  own  brother's  child. 

And  keep  from  him  his  just  inheritance  ? 

The  Duke  claims  his  maternal  property, 

Urging  he's  now  of  age,  and  'tis  full  time 

That  he  should  rule  his  people  and  dominions ; 

What  is  the  answer  made  to  him?     The  king 

Places  a  chaplet  on  his  head ;  "  Behold 

The  fitting  ornament,"  he  cries,  "  of  youth  I" 

Mauer  You  hear.     Expect  not  from  the  Emperor 

Or  right  or  justice  !  Then  redress  yourselves ! 

Reding.  No  other  course  is  left  us.     Now,  advise 
AVhat  plan  most  likely  to  ensure  success. 

FuRST     To  shake  a  thraldom  off  that  we  abhor, 
To  keep  our  ancient  rights  inviolate. 
As  we  received  them  from  our  fathers, — thia, 
Not  lawless  innovation,  is  our  aim. 
Let  Ccesar  still  retain  what  is  his  due  ; 
And  he  that  is  a  vassal,  let  him  pav 
The  service  he  is  sworn  to  faithfully. 

Meyer    ]  hold  my  land  of  Austria  in  fief. 

FuRST.    Continue,  then,  to  pay  your  feudal  service 

Weil.     I'm  tenant  of  the  lords  of  Rappers weil. 

FuRST.    Continue,  then,  to  pay  them  rent  and  tithe. 

RossEL.  Of  Zurich's  Lady  I'm  the  humble  vassal. 

FuRST.    Give  to  the  cloister,  what  the  cloister  claims. 

Stauff.  The  Empire  only  is  my  feudal  lord 

FuRST.    What  needs  must  be,  we'll  do,  but  nothing  further 
We'll  drive  these  tyrants  and  their  minions  hence, 
And  raze  tlieir  towering  strongholds  to  the  ground, 
Yet  shed,  if  possible,  no  drop  of  blood. 
Let  the  Emperor  see,  that  we  were  driven  to  cast 
The  sacred  duties  of  respect  away ; 
And  when  he  finds  we  keep  within  our  bounds, 
His  wrath,  belike,  may  yield  to  policy  ; 

•   The  Duke  of  Suabia,  who  soon  afterwards  assassinated  his  uncle,  for 
withholding  his  patrimony  from  him. 


gC.  n.]  WILHELM  TEIX.  ^"^^ 

For  tmly  is  that  nation  to  be  fear'd,  _ 
That,  when  in  arms,  is  temp'rate  in  its  wrath. 
Redikg.  But  prithee  tell  us  how  may  this  be  done  ? 
The  enemy  is  arm'd  as  well  as  we, 
And.  rest  assui-ed,  he  will  not  yield  in  peace. 
Stauff.  He  will,  whene'er  he  sees  us  up  in  arms ; 

"We  shall  surprise  him,  ere  he  is  prepared. 
Meyer.  'Tis  easily  said,  but  not  so  easily  done. 

Two  fortresses  of  strength  command  the  country— 
They  shield  the  foe,  and  should  the  King  invade  us. 
The  task  would  then  be  dangerous  indeed. 
Rossberg  and  Sarnen  both  must  be  secured. 
Before  a  sword  is  drawn  in  either  Canton. 
Stauff.  Should  we  delay  the  foe  will  soon  be  warned ; 

We  are  too  numerous  for  secrecy. 
Meter.  There  is  no  traitor  in  the  Forest  States. 
RossEL.  But  even  zeal  may  heedlessly  betray. 
FuRST.    Delay  it  longer,  and  the  keep  at  Altdorf 
Will'be  complete,— the  governor  secure 
"Meyer.  You  tliink  but  of  yom-selves.  _ 

Sacristan.  ^^^  ^^'^  \in]nst  I 

Meyer.  Unjust !  said  you  ?     Dares  Uri  taunt  us  so  ? 
Reding.  Peace,  on  your  oath !  ,.._.. 

j^jj,^.j.j,_  If  Sch^^Ttz  be  leagued  with  Un, 

'   "Why,  then,  indeed,  we  must  perforce  be  silent. 
Reding.  And  let  me  tell  you,  in  the  Diet's  name. 
Your  hasty  spirit  much  distxu-bs  the  peace. 
Stand  we  not  all  for  the  same  common  cause  ? 
Wink      What,  if  we  delay  till  Christmas?     Tis  then 
The  custom  for  the  serfs  to  throng  tlie  castle, 
Brinf^iug  the  governor  their  annual  gifts. 
Thus°may  some  ten  or  twelve  selected  men 
Assemble  unobserved,  within  its  walls. 
Bearing  about  their  persons  pikes  of  steel, 
Which°may  be  quickly  mounted  upon  staves. 
For  arms  are  not  admitted  to  the  fort. 
The  rest  can  fill  the  neighb'ring  wood,  prepared 
To  sally  forth  upon  a  trumpet's  blast, 
Whene'er  their  comrades  have  secured  the  gate  ; 
And  thus  the  castle  will  be  ours  with  ease 
Mklch  The  Rossberg  I  will  undertake  to  scale. 


360 


WlLHELM   TELL. 


f5C.  II.] 


Reding 

Stauff 

FURST 


Stauff 


Baum. 


Reding 


FCBST. 


EOSSEL 


I  have  a  sweetheart  in  the  garrison, 

Wliom  with  some  tender  words  I  could  persuade 

To  lower  me  at  night  a  hempen  ladder. 

Once  up,  mv  friends  mil  not  be  long  hehind. 

Are  all  resolved  in  favour  of  delay  ? 

[I'he  majority  raise  their  hands 
(counting  them). 

Twenty  to  twelve  is  the  majority. 
If  on  the  appointed  day  the  castles  fall, 
From  mountain  on  to  mountain  we  shall  pass 
The  fieiy  signal :  in  the  capital 
Of  every  Canton  quickly  rouse  the  Landsturm* 
Then,  when  these  tyrants  see  our  martial  front, 
Believe  me,  they  will  never  make  so  bold 
As  risk  the  conflict,  but  will  gladly  take 
Safe  conduct  forth  beyond  our  boundaries. 
Not  so  -^vith  Gessler.     He  will  make  a  stand. 
Suri'ounded  with  his  dret-i  array  of  horse. 
Blood  will  be  shed  before  he  quits  the  field, 
And  even  expell'd  he'd  still  be  terrible. 
'Tis  hard,  indeed  'tis  dangerous,  to  spare  him 
Place  me  where'er  a  life  is  to  be  lost ; 
I  owe  my  life  to  Tell,  and  cheerfully 
Will  pledge  it  for  my  country.     I  have  clear'd 
My  honour,  and  my  heart  is  now  at  rest. 
.Counsel  will  come  with  circumstance.     Be  patient! 
Something  must  still  be  trustea  to  the  moment. 
Yet,  while  by  night  we  hold  our  Diet  here. 
The  morning,  see,  has  on  the  mountain  tops 
Kindled  her  glowing  beacon      Let  us  part. 
Ere  the  broad  sun  surprise  us. 

Do  not  fear. 
The  night  wanes  slowly  from  these  vales  of  ours, 
[All  hare  invohmtarihj  taken  off  their  caps,  and 
con  template   the   breaking  of  day,  absorbed  in 
silence. 
By  this  fair  light  which  greeteth  us,  before 
Those  other  nations,  that,  beneath  us  far, 
In  noisome  cities  pent,  draw  painful  breath. 


•  A  sort  of  national  militia. 


ACT  III.l  VTILHELM   TELL.  ^^^ 

Swear  we  tlie  oatli  of  our  confederacy! 
We  swear  to  be  a  nation  of  true  brothers, 
Never  to  nart  in  danger  or  in  death  . 

rrJv%eat  hisrvords  M  three  fingers  raised. 
We  swear  we  will  be  free,  as  were  our  sires, 
And  sooner  die  than  live  in  slaver^y  .  ^^^^^^  ^^  ^^^.  ^^ 

We  swear  to  put  our  trust  in  God  Most  High, 
And  not  to  quail  before  the  might  of  man 

[All  repeat  as  before,  and  embrace  each  other. 

Statiff  Now  every  man  pursue  his  several  way 
Stauff  gow  e^  r^^  ^^^J^^^  ^.^  ^  and  his  home. 

Let  the  herd  winter  up  his  flock  and  gain, 
In  silence,  friends  for  our  confederacy  '. 
What  for  a  time  must  be  endured,  endure. 
And  let  the  reckoning  of  the  tymnts  grow. 
Till  the  great  day  arrive,  when  they  shall  pay 
The  general  and  particular  debt  at  once. 
Let  every  man  control  his  own  just  rage, 
A^d  nurse  his  vengeance  for  the  public  wrongs: 
For  he  whom  selfish  interests  now  engage 
Defrauds  the  general  weal  of  what  to  it  belongs.      _ 
""^t;:    are  going  off  in  Profound  sUen^,^ 
three  different  directions,  the  orche^Ua  plays  a 
tuLiir      The  empty  scene  r-nauis  opener 
some  time,  showing  the  rays  of  the  sun  mv,g 
over  the  Glaciers. 


ACT  III, 

Scene  I. 

the£-Oronnd,  playing  with  a  httle  cross-bow 
(Walter  sings). 
With  his  cross-bow,  and  his  quiver, 

The  huntsman  speeds  his  way. 
Over  mountain,  dale,  and  river, 
At  the  dawning  of  the  day. 


362 


WILHELM   TEIJ. 


[act  m. 


As  the  eagle,  on  wild  pinion, 

Is  the  king  in  realms  of  air, 
So  the  hunter  claims  dominion 

Over  crag  and  forest  lair. 

Far  as  ever  bow  can  cany, 

Thro'  the  trackless  airy  space, 
All  he  sees  he  makes  his  quarry, 

Soaring  bird  and  beast  of  chase 

WiLHELM  {i-uns  forivard). 

My  string  has  snapt !  Wilt  mend  it  for  me^  father  ? 

Tell.     Not  I ;  a  true-born  archer  helps  himself.  [Boys  retire. 

Hedw.   The  boys  begin  to  use  the  bow  betimes. 

Tell.      'Tis  early  practice  only  makes  the  master. 

Ah  I  Would  to  Heaven  they  never  learnt  the  art ! 
But  they  shall  learn  it,  wife,  in  all  its  points. 
Whoe'er  would  carve  an  independent  way 
Through  life,  must  learn  to  ward  or  plant  a  blow 
Alas,  alas  !  and  they  will  never  rest 
Contentedly  at  home. 

No  more  can  I ! 
I  was  not  framed  by  nature  for  a  shepherd. 
Restless  I  must  pursue  a  changing  course ; 
I  only  feel  the  flush  and  joy  of  life, 
In  starting  some  fresh  quarry  every  day 
Heedless  the  while  of  all  your  -wife's  alarms, 
As  she  sits  watching  through  long  hours  at  heme. 
For  my  soul  sinks  with  terror  at  the  tales 
The  servants  tell  about  your  wild  adventures. 
Whene'er  we  part,  my  trembling  heart  forebodes, 
That  you  will  ne'er  come  back  to  me  again. 
I  see  you  on  the  frozen  mountain  steeps, 
Missing,  perchance,  your  leap  from  clilf  to  cliff. 
I  see  the  chamois,  with  a  wild  rebound. 
Drag  you  down  with  him  o'er  the  precipice. 
I  see  the  avalanche  close  o'er  your  head, — 
The  treacherous  ice  give  way,  and  you  sink  dov.n 
Intombed  alive  within  its  hideous  gulf. 
Ah  !  in  a  hundred  varjang  forms  does  death 
Pursue  the  Alpine  huntsman  on  his  course 
That  way  of  life  can  surely  ne'er  be  blessed. 
Where  life  and  limb  are  perill'd  ever}'  hour. 


Hedw, 
Tell. 


Hedw 


Tktx. 


Hedw 


BC.   I.] 


WILHELM  TELL. 


363 


Tell. 


Hedw. 
Tell 


The  man  that  bears  a  quick  and  steady  eye, 
And  trusts  to  God,  and  his  own  lusty  sinews, 
Pafses,  Sth  scarce  a  scar,  through  every  danger. 
The  mountain  cannot  awe  the  mountain  child. 
^^Zing  finished  his  u.rA-,  he  lay:as.d.1us  too. 
And  now,  methinks,  the  door  will  bold  awhilc.- 
The  axe  at  home  oft  saves  the  ca^Teutcr^^^.^^  ^ .   ^^^ 

Whitlier  away?  ,    ^  r  a  „,. 

ToAltdorf,  toyourfathei. 

Hedw.    You  have  some  dangerous  enterprise  m  view  ? 

Confess ! 
TrxT  Why  think  YOU  so  .  . 

I'l-^-  ^  ^  Some  scheme  s  on  foot, 

'''' Against  the  goveniors.     There  was  a  Diet 
Held  on  the  Rootli-that  1  know-and  you 
Are  one  of  the  confederacy,  I'm  sure. 
I  ^vas  not  there.     Yet  will  I  not  hold  back, 
Whene'er  my  countrj^  calls  me  to  her  aid 
Wherever  danger  is,  will  you  be  placed. 
On  vou,  as  ever,  will  the  burden  tall. 
Each  ma^  shall  have  the  post  that  fits  his  powers 
You  took- ay,  'mid  the  thickest  of  the  storm- 
The  man  of  Unterwald  across  the  lake. 
'Tis  a  marvel  you  escaped.     Had  you  no  though. 
Ofwife  and  children,  then? 

Dear  wile.  1  had  , 
And  therefore  saved  the  father  for  his  children. 
To  brave  the  lake  in  all  its  wrath !      Twas  not 
To  put  your  trust  in  God  !     'Twas  tempting  him. 
The  man  that's  over  cautious  will  do  little 
Yes,  youVe  a  kind  and  helping  hand  for  all  : 
But  be  in  straits,  and  who  will  lend  you  aid. 
God  grant  I  ne'er  may  stand  m  need  oi  it . 

°  [Takes  up  his  crossbow  ami  arrous. 

Why  take  your  crossbow  with  you?  Leave  it  nere 

I  want  my  right  hand,  when  I  want  my  bow. 

I  v^Auiuiy  I  a  j.^^^^  ^^^^  return 

Where,  father,  are  you  going?  ,  .   ,  v^,. 

To  grand-dad,  boy— 

ToAltdorf.     Will  you  go? 


Tell. 

Hedw. 

Tell. 
Hedw. 

Tell. 

Hedw. 

Tell. 
Hedw. 

Tell. 

Hedw 
Tell. 

Walt. 
Tell. 


364 


WILHEI.M   TELL. 


[act  III. 


Walter 
Hedw 
Tell. 
Hedwig 

Tell. 

Hedw. 
Tell. 

Hedw. 
Tell. 


Hedw. 
Tell. 


Ay,  that  I  will ! 

The  Viceroy's  there  just  now.     Go  not  to  Altdorf ! 

He  leaves  to-day. 

Then  let  him  first  be  gone 

Cross  not  his  path.— You  know  he  bears  us  grudge 

His  ill-will  cannot  greatly  injure  me. 

I  do  what's  right,  and  care  for  no  man's  hate. 

'Tis  those  who  do  what's  right,  whom  most  ho  liatea. 

Because  he  cannot  reach  them.     Me,  I  ween, 

His  knightship  will  be  glad  to  leave  in  peace. 

Ay ! — Are  you  sure  of  that? 

Not  long  ago, 

As  I  was  hunting  through  the  wild  ravines 

Of  Shechenthal,  untrod  by  mortal  foot,— • 

There,  as  I  took  my  solitary  way 

Along  a  shelving  ledge  of  rocks,  where  'twas 

Impossible  to  step  on  either  side ; 

For  high  above  rose,  like  a  giant  wall, 

The  precipice's  side,  and  far  below 

The  Shechen  thundered  o'er  its  rifted  bed  ;— 

[The  hoys  press  towards  him,  lookinn  vpon  him 
with  excited  curiosity. 
There,  face  to  face,  I  met  the  Viceroy.     He 
Alone  with  me— and  1  myself  alone- 
Mere  man  to  man,  and  near  us  the  abyss. 
And  when  his  lordship  had  perused  my  face,     . 
And  knew  the  man  he  had  severely  fined 
On  some  most  trivial  ground,  not  long  before ; 
And  saw  me,  with  my  sturdy  bow  in  hand, 
Come  striding  t'wards  him,  then  his  cbeek  grew  palo. 
His  knees  /efused  their  office,  and  I  thonglit 
He  would  have  sunk  against  the  mountain  sule. 
Tnen,  touch'd  with  pity  for  him,  I  advanced, 
Respectfully,  and  said,  "  'Tis  I,  my  lord." 
But  ne'er  a  sound  could  he  compel  his  lips 
To  frame  in  answer.     Only  with  his  hand 
He  beckoned  me  in  silence  to  proceed. 
So  I  pass'd  on,  and  sent  his  train  to  seek  him. 
He  trembled  then  before  you  ?   Woe  the  while 
You  saw  his  weakness ;  that  he'll  ne'er  forgivf 
I  shun  him,  therefore,  and  he'll  not  seek  me. 


S65 

gC.  II.]  WILHELM  TELL. 

Hedw.   But  Stay  a^vay  to-day.     Go  hunting  rather ! 

?ELL      ^M.y  thus  distress  yourself  .ithout^a  cause  ? 
Hedw.   Because  there  is  no  cause.     T^i^' ^^^^^"^f '^  "" 

WiLH.    MoUiev.ni  Stay  Mi  you !  ^^  ^^,^ 

«^"'"^£;o™'7ea';':hild.     ThouTtair,iats,eft.o.e 

^  a  Joxs?,/  «/W  Tei.1.  ani  her  son  /or  «.  con- 

siderable  time. 

Scene  II 
A  retired  part  of  the  Forest. -Brooks  dashing  in  spray  over 

the  rochs. 
Enter  Bebtha  in  a  hunting  dress.     Immediately  afterwards 

RUDENZ 

Berth.  He  follo^vs  me.     Now  to  explain  myself! 
RuDENZ  (entering  hastily).  ^    i  „^ 

At  length,  dear  lady,  ^ve  have  met  alone. 
In  this  ^vild  dell.  %\-ith  rocks  on  eveiy  side. 
No  iealous  eye  can  ^vatch  our  nitemew. 
Now  let  my  heart  throw  off  this  weary  silence. 
Berth.  But  are  vou  sure  they  will  not  follow  us  . 
EUD      .  See.  yonder  goes  the  chase,     ^ow,  then  or  never ! 
I  must  avail  me  of  the  precious  moment,— 
Must  hear  my  doom  decided  hy  thy  hps. 
Thouc^h  it  should  part  me  from  tliy  side  for  ever 
Oh,  d°o  not  arm  that  gentle  face  of  thme 
With  looks  so  stem  and  harsh  !     ^^  ho-who  am  1. 
That  dare  aspire  so  high,  as  unto  thee  " 
Fame  hath  not  stamp'd  me  yet ;  nor  may  i  take 


366  WILHELM   TELL.  [ACT   III. 

My  place  amid  the  courtly  throng  of  knights, 
That,  cro^\^l'd  with  glory's  lustre,  woo  thy  smiles. 
Nothing  have  I  to  offer,  but  a  heart 
That  overflows  with  truth  and  love  for  thee 

Bertha  [sternly  and  idth  severity). 

And  dare  you  speak  to  me  of  love — cf  truth? 
You,  that  are  faithless  to  jour  nearest  ties  ! 
You,  that  are  Austria's  slave — bartered  and  scld 
To  her — an  alien,  and  your  country's  tyrant ! 
UD.  .  .  How !  This  reproach  from  thee !  Whom  do  I  seek, 
On  Austria's  side,  vay  own  beloved,  but  thee  ? 

Berth.  Think  you  to  find  me  in  the  traitor's  ranks  ? 
Now,  as  I  live,  I'd  rather  give  my  hand 
To  Gessler's  self,  all  despot  though  he  be. 
Than  to  the  Switzer  who  forgets  his  birth, 
And  stoops  to  be  the  minion  of  a  tyrant. 

EUD.  .  .  Oh  heaven,  what  must  I  hear ! 

Bektha.  Say  !  what  can  lie 

Nearer   the   good   man's  heart,    than   friends  and 

kindred  ? 
What  dearer  duty  to  a  noble  soul, 
Than  to  protect  weak,  suffering  innocence. 
And  vindicate  the  rights  of  the  oppress 'd  ? 
My  very  soul  bleeds  for  your  countrymen. 
I  suffer  with  them,  for  I  needs  must  love  them  ; 
They  are  so  gentle,  yet  so  full  of  power ; 
They  draw  my  whole  heart  to  them.     Eveiy  day 
I  look  upon  them  with  increased  esteem. 
But  you,  whom  nature  and  your  knightly  vow, 
Have  given  them  as  their  natural  protector, 
Y'et  who  desert  them  and  abet  their  foes, 
In  forging  shacldes  for  your  native  land, 
Y^ou — you  it  is,  that  deeply  grieve  and  wound  me 
I  must  constrain  my  heart,  or  I  shall  hate  you. 

Rod.  .  .  Is  not  my  country's  welfare  all  my  wish  ? 
What  seek  I  for  her,  but  to  purchase  peace 
'Neath  Austria's  potent  sceptre  ? 

Bertha.  Bondage,  rather  1 

You  would  drive  freedom  from  the  last  stronghold 
Tliat  yet  remains  for  her  upon  the  earth. 


gC.   II.]  WILHELM  TELL  367 

The  people  know  their  own  true  int'iests  better : 
Their  simple  natures  are  not  warp'd  by  show. 
But  round  your  head  a  tangling  net  is  wound. 
EuD.  .  .  Bertha,  you  hate  me— you  despise  me  ! 
Bertha.  -^^y  • 

And  if  I  did,  'twere  better  for  my  peace. 
But  to  see  him  despised  and  despicable, — 
The  man  whom  one  might  love — 
Rddenz.  Ob;  Bertha !  You 

Show  me  the  pinnacle  of  heavenly  bliss, 
Then,  in  a  moment,  hurl  me  to  despair  ! 
Berts    No,  no  !  the  noble  is  not  all  extinct 

Within  you.     It  but  slumbers,— I  will  rouse  it 
It  must  have  cost  you  many  a  fiery  struggle. 
To  crush  the  virtues  of  your  race  within  you. 
But,  Heaven  be  praised,  'tis  mightier  than  yourself, 
And  you  are  noble  in  your  ovra  despite ! 
RuD.  .  .  You  trust  me,  then  ?     Oh,  Bertha,  with  thy  love 

What  might  I  not  become  ! 
Bertha.  Be  only  that 

For  which  your  own  high  nature  destin'd  you 
Fill  the  position  you  were  born  to  fill ; — 
Stand  by  your  people  and  your  native  land — 
And  battle  for  your  sacred  rights ! 
RuDENZ  Alas ! 

How  can  I  hope  to  win  you—  to  possess  you, 
If  I  take  arms  against  the  Emperor? 
Will  not  your  potent  kinsmen  interpose. 
To  dictate  the  disposal  of  your  hand  ? 
Berth    All  my  estates  lie  in  the  Forest  Cantons  ; 
And  1  am  free,  when  Switzerland  is  free. 
RuD.  .     Oh  !  what  a  prospect.  Bertha,  hast  thou  shown  me! 
Berth    Hope  not  to  win  my  hand  by  Austria's  favour; 
Fain  would  they  lay  their  grasp  on  my  estates. 
To  swell  the  vast  domains  which  now  they  hold. 
The  selfsame  lust  of  conquest,  that  would  rob 
You  of  your  liberty,  endangers  mine 
Oh,  friend.  I'm  mark'd  for  sacrifice  ; — to  be 
The  guerdon  of  some  parasite,  perchance  ! 
They'll  drag  me  hence  to  the  Imperial  court. 
That  hateful  haunt  of  falsehood  and  intrigue ; 


368  WILHELM  l-ELL.  [ACT  lU, 

There  do  detested  marriage  bonds  await  me. 
Love,  love  alone,— your  love  can  rescue  me. 
EuD.    .  And  thou  couldst  be  content,  love,  to  live  here ; 
In  my  o^^'n  native  land  to  be  my  ovm.  ? 
Oh,  Bertha,  all  the  yearnings  of  my  soul 
For  this  great  world  and  its  tumultuous  strife, 
What  were  they,  but  a  yearning  after  thee  ? 
In  glory's  path'  I  sought  for  thee  alone, 
And  all  my  thirst  of  fame  was  only  love. 
But  if  in  this  calm  vale  thou  canst  abide 
With  me,  and  bid  earth's  pomps  and  pride  adiea, 
Then  is  the  goal  of  my  ambition  won; 
And  the  rough  tide  of  the  tempestuous  world 
May  dash  and  rave  around  these  firm-set  lulls ! 
No'wandering  wishes  more  have  I  to  send 
Forth  to  the  busy  scene  that  stirs  beyond. 
Then  may  these  rocks,  that  girdle  us,  extend 
Their  giant  walls  impenetrably  round. 
And  this  sequestered  happy  vale  alone 
Look  up  to  heaven,  and  be  my  paradise  ! 
Berth.  Now  art  thou  all  my  fancy  dream'd  of  thee. 
My  trust  has  not  been  given  to  thee  in  vain 
RuD        Awnv,  ye  idle  phantoms  of  my  ^'olly ! 

In  mine  ovm  home  I'll  find  my  happiness. 
Here  where  the  gladsome  boy  to  manhood  grew. 
Where  ev'rj'  brook,  and  tree,  and  mountain  peak. 
Teems  with  remembrances  of  happy  hours. 
In  mine  0N\n  native  land  thou  wilt  be  mine. 
Ah  I  have  ever  loved  it  well,  1  feel 
How  poor  without  it  were  all  earthly  joys. 
Berth    Where  should  we  look  for  happiness  on  earth, 
If  not  in  this  dear  land  of  innocence  ? 
Here  where  old  truth  hath  its  faunhar  home,^ 
Where  fraud  and  guile  are  strangers,  envy  ne  or 
Shall  dim  the  sparkling  fountain  of  our  bliss. 
And  ever  bright  the  hours  shall  o'er  us  glide. 
There  do  1  see  thee,  in  true  manly  worth, 
The  foremost  of  the  free  and  of  thy  peers, 
llevered  with  homage  pure  and  unconstrain  d. 
Wieldiiift  a  power  that  kings  might  envy  thee. 
Rod      .  And  thee  I  see.  thy  sex's  crownmg  gem. 


80,  III.J  WILHELM   TELL.  3^3 

With  thy  sweet  woman  gi-ace  and  wakeful  love, 
Building  a  heaven  for  me  within  my  home, 
And,  as^the  spring-time  scatters  forth  her  flowers, 
Adorning  with  thy  charms  my  path  of  life, 
And  spreading  jov  and  sunshine  all  around. 

Berth.  And  this  it  was,  dear  friend,  that  caused  my  gncf, 
To  see  thee  blast  this  life's  supremest  bliss, 
With  thine  own  hand.     Ah !  what  had  been  ray  fate^ 
Had  I  been  forced  to  follow  some  proud  lord, 
Some  ruthless  despot,  to  his  gloomy  castle ! 
Here  are  no  castles,  here  no  bastiou'd  walls 
Divide  me  from  a  people  I  can  bless. 

RuD   . .  Yet,  how  to  free  myself ;  to  loose  the  coils 

Which  I  have  madly  twined  around  my  head  ? 

Bekth.  Tear  them  asunder  with  a  man's  resolve. 
Whatever  the  event,  stand  by  thy  people. 
.  It  is  thv  post  by  birth. 

[Hunting  horns  are  heard  in  the  distance. 
But  hark  !  The  chase  ! 
Farewell,— 'tis  needful  we  should  part— away  ! 
Fi^ht  for  thy  land  ;  thou  fightest  for  thy  lore. 
One  foe  fills  all  our  souls  with  dread  ;  the  blow 
That  makes  one  free,  emancipates  us  all. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

Scene  III. 
A  meadoiv  near  Altdorf.     Trees  in  the  fore-ground.      At  the 
hack  of  the  stage  a  cap   vpon   a  pole.     1  he  prospect    is 
hounded  by  the  Bannherg,  which  is  simnounted  by  a  snow- 
capped mountain. 

Friesshardt  and  Leuthold  on  guard 
Friess.  We  keep  our  watch  in  vain.     There's  not  a  soul 
Will  pass,  and  do  obeibance  to  the  cap. 
But  yesterday  the  place  swarm'd  like  a  fair  ; 
Now  the  whole  green  looks  like  a  very  desert. 
Since  yonder  scarecrow  hung  upon  the  pole. 
Led  rn    Only  the  vilest  rabble  show  themselves, 

And  wave  their  tattered  caps  in  mockery  at  us. 
A.11  honest  citizens  would  sooner  make 
A  tedious  circuit  over  half  the  town, 

2B 


370 


WILHELM  TfiLL. 


[act  tn. 


Than  bend  tlieir  backs  before  our  master's  cap 
Fbiess.  They  were  obliged  to  pass  this  way  at  noon, 

As  they  were  coming  from  the  Council  House. 
I  counted  then  upon  a  fiimous  catch, 
For  no  one  thought  of  bo\nng  to  the  cap. 
But  Rosselmann,  the  priest,  was  even  with  me  : 
Coming  just  then  from  some  sick  penitent. 
He  stands  before  the  pole, — raises  the  Host — 
The  Sacrist,  too,  must  tinkle  with  his  bell, — 
AVhen  down  they  dropp'd  on  knee — myself  and  all 
In  reverence  to  the  Host,  but  not  the  cap. 
Ledth.  Hark  ye,  companion,  I've  a  shrewd  suspicion,. 
Our  post's  no  better  than  the  pillory. 
It  is  a  burning  shame,  a  trooper  should 
Stand  sentinel  before  an  empty  cap. 
And  every  honest  fellow  must  despise  us 
To  do  obeisance  to  a  cap,  too !     Faith, 
I  never  heard  an  order  so  absurd  ! 
Frixss.  Why  not,  an't  please  thee,  to  an  empty  cap  ? 

Thou'st  duck'd,  I'm  sure,  to  many  an  empty  sconce. 
[HiLDEGARD,  Mechthild,   and   Elsbeth  enter 
with    their   children,    and    station    themselves 
around  the  pole. 
Leuth.  And  thou  art  an  officious  sneaking  knave, 

That's  fond  of  bringing  honest  folks  to  trouble. 
For  my  part,  he  that  likes,  may  pass  the  cap : — 
<■  I'll  shut  my  eyes  and  take  no  note  of  him. 
Mech.    There  hangs  the  Viceroy  !  Your  obeisance,  children  ! 
Els.  .  .  I  would  to  God  he'd  go,  and  leave  his  cap  ! 

The  country  would  be  none  the  worse  for  it. 
FBiESsnAHDT  {driviiirj  them  aicaij). 

Out  of  the  way  !  Confounded  pack  of  gossips  ! 
Who  sent  for  you  ?     Go,  send  your  husbands  here. 
If  they  have  courage  to  defy  the  order. 

[Tei.l  enters  ttith  his  crossboic,  leading  his  son 
Walter  hy  the  hand.     They  pass  the  hat  with- 
out noticing  it,  and  advance  to  the  front  oj  the 
stage. 
Walter  (pointing  to  the  Bannhcrg). 

Father,  is't  true,  that  on  the  mountain  there, 
The  trees,  if  wounded  with  a  hatchet,  bleed  ? 


SC.  ni.]  WILHELM   TRLL  ^^l 

Tell.     Who  says  so,  boy  ?  '  f  .x,^,., 

Walter.  Th®  master  herdsman,  father ! 

He  tells  us,  there's  a  charm  upon  the  trees, 
And  if  a  man  shall  injure  them,  the  hand 
That  stnick  the  blow  will  grow  from  out  the  grave 
Tell      There  is  a  charm  about  them— that's  the  truth. 

Dost  see  those  glaciers  yonder— those  white  horns— 
That  seem  to  melt  away  into  the  sky  ? 
Walt     They  are  the  peaks  that  thunder  so  at  night, 

And  send  the  avalanches  down  upon  us 
Tell.     They  are ;  and  Altdorf  long  ago  had  been 

Submerged  beneath  these  avalanches'  weight, 
Did  not  the  forest  there  above  the  town 
Stand  like  a  bulwark  to  arrest  their  fall. 
Walter  {after  musing  a  little).  ,       x-   i,     o 

And  are  there  countries  with  no  mountains,  latJier  t 
Tell.     Yes,  if  we  travel  downwards  from  our  heights, 
And  keep  descending  in  the  rivers'  courses. 
We  reach  a  wide  and  level  country,  where 
Our  mountain  torrents  brawl  and  foam  no  more. 
And  fair  large  rivers  glide  serenely  on. 
All  quarters  of  the  heaven  may  there  be  scann  d 
Without  impediment.     The  corn  grows  there 
In  broad  and  lovely  fields,  and  all  the  land 
Is  fair  as  any  garden  to  the  view. 
Walt     But,  father,  'tell  me,  wherefore  haste  we  not 
Away  to  this  delightful  land,  instead 
Of  toiling  here,  and  struggling  as  we  do  ?  . 

Tell.     The  land  is  fair  and  bountiful  as  Heaven ;  . 

But  they  who  till  it,  never  may  enjoy 
The  fruits  of  what  they  sow. 
■\Valter.  Live  they  not  free, 

As  you  do,  on  the  land  their  fathers  left  them? 
Tell.     The  fields  are  all  the  bishop's  or  the  king's. 
Walt.    But  they  m.ay  freely  hunt  among  the  woods  ? 
Tell.     The  game  is  all  the  monarch's— bird  and  beast. 
Walt.    But  they,  at  least,  may  surely  fish  the  streams? 
Tell.     Stream,'  lake,  and  sea,  all  to  the  king  belong. 
Walt.    Who  is  this  king,  of  whom  they're  so  afraid? 
Tell      He  is  the  maxi  who  fosters  and  protects  them. 

2  B  2 


I 


372  WILHELM   TELL.  [ACT   III. 

Have  they  not  courage  to  protect  themselves? 
Tell.     The  neighbour  there  dare  not  his  neighbour  ti-ust. 
Walt.    I  should  ^vant  breathing  room  in  such  a  land. 

I'd  rather  dwell  beneath  the  avalanches. 
Tell      'Tis  better,  child,  to  have  these  glacier  peaks 

Behind  one's  back,  than  evil  minded  men  ! 

[Thei/  are  about  to  jJass  mi 
Walt.    See,  father,  see  the  cap  on  yonder  pole  ! 
Tell.     What  is  the  cap  to  us  ?     Come,  let's  begone 

[As  he  is  going,  Friesshaedt,  'presenting  his  pike, 
stops  him. 
Friess.  Stand,  I  command  you,  in  the  Emperor's  name ! 
Tell  {seizing  the  pike). 

What  would  ye  ?     Wherefore  do  ye  stop  my  path? 
Friess.  You've  broke  the  mandate,  and  must  go  \nth  us. 
Leuth.  You  have  not  done  obeisance  to  the  cap. 
Tell.     Friend,  let  me  go. 

Friess.  Away,  away  to  prison ! 

Walt.    Father  to  prison     Help ! 

[Calling  to  the  side  scene. 
This  way,  you  men ! 

Good  people,  help !    They're  dragging  him  to  prison' 
[Rosselmann  the  Priest,  and  the  Sacristan,  with 
three  other  men,  enter. 
Sacuis.  What's  here  amiss  ? 

Ross.  Why  do  you  seize  this  man  ? 

Friess.  He  is  an  enemy  of  the  King — a  traitor. 
Tell  [seizing  him  ivith  violence). 

A  traitor,  I ! 
Rosselmann.  Friend,  thou  art  wrong.     'Tis  Tell, 

An  honest  man,  and  worthy  citizen. 
Walter  (descries  Fdrst  and  runs  up  to  him). 

Grandfather,  help,  they  want  to  seize  my  father! 
Friess.  Away  to  prison ! 
FcRST  {running  in).  Stay,  I  offer  bail. 

For  God's  sake.  Tell,  what  is  the  matter  here  ? 

[Melchthal  and  Stauffacher  enter 
LzDTH.  He  has  contemn'd  the  Viceroy's  sovereign  power 

Refusing  flatly  to  acknowledge  it 
Stauff.  Has  Tell  done  this? 


8C.  III.]  WILHELM    TELL.  ^"^ 

Melchthal.  Villain,  thou  knovvest  'tis  false! 

Leuth.  He  has  not  made  obeisance  to  the  cap. 

FuRST.    And  shall  for  this  to  piison  ?     Come,  my  friend, 

Take  mv  security,  and  let  him  go. 
Fbiess.  Keep  vour  security  for  yourself— you  11  need  it. 

We  only  do  our  duty.     Hence  with  him. 
Melchthal  (to  'the  country  jyeople). 

Tills  is  too  bad -shall  v;e  stand  by,  and  see  them 
Dracr  him  away  before  our  veiy  eyes  ? 
Sacris.  We ''are  the  strongest.     Don't  endure  it,  friends. 

Our  country-men  will  back  us  to  a  man. 
Friess    ^^lio  dares' resist  the  governor's  commands? 
Other  Three  Peas.a.nts  {running  iyi). 

We'll  help  you.     What's  the  matter  ?     Down  with 

them !  ^ 

[Hildegard.  Mechthild  and  Elsbetu  return. 

Tell.     Go,  go,  good  people,  I  can  help  myself 

Think  you.  had  I  a  mind  to  use  my  strength, 
These  pikes  of  theirs  should  daunt  me  ?  ^ 

Melchthal  [to  Friesshardt).  -*"iy  "7 

Try.  if  you  dare,  to  force  him  from  amongst  us. 

FUBST  flJid'STAUFFACHER. 

Peace,  peace,  friends  '.  .       ,     , 

Friesshardt  {loudly).  Kiot !  Insurrection,  ho 

[Hunting  horns  without 

Women  The  Governor!  ,  ,r  ^-      . 

Friesshardt  [raising  his  voice).     Rebellion !  Mutiny ! 
Stauff.  Roar,  till  you  burst,  knave  ! 

Rosselm.  NN  and  Melchthal.      Will  you  hold  your  tongue  ? 
FRiESSHAiiDT  [calling  still  louder).  ,  ,     ,      , 

Help,  '^elp,  I  sav,  the  servants  of  the  law! 
FuRST.    The  "    :eroy  here  !  Then  we  shall  smart  for  this ! 

■■     ite^  Gessler  on  horseback,  uith  a  falcon  on 
'    hi    i)rist ;  Rudolph  der  Harras,  Bertha,  and 
R'    ^NZ,  and  a  numerous  train  of  anned  at- 
tendants, tiho  form  a  circle  of  lajices  round  ths 
uholc  stage. 
Har.    .  Room  for  the  Viceroy  ! 
Gessler  Bnxe  tlie  clo^vns  apart. 

my  throng  the  people  thus  ?     ^Vho  calls  for  help  ? 
'  '^        *■  [Generul  silence 


374 


WILHELM   TELL. 


[act  ni. 


Who  was  it?    1  will  Imow 

[Fbtesshaedt  steps  fonoard. 

'  And  who  art  thou  ? 

And  why  hast  thou  this  man  in  custody  ? 

[Gives  his  falcon  to  an  attendant. 

Fbiess.  Dread  sir,  I  am  a  soldier  of  your  guard, 
And  station'd  sentinel  beside  the  cap ; 
This  man  I  apprehended  in  the  act 
Of  passing  it  without  obeisance  due. 
So  1  arrested  him,  as  you  gave  order 
Whereon  the  people  tried  to  rescue  him. 

Gessler  {after  a  j^nnse]- 

And  do  you,  Tell,  so  lightly  hold  your  king. 
And  me,  who  act  as  his  vicegerent  here, 
That  you  refuse  the  greeting  to  the  cap 
1  hung  aloft  to  test  your  loyalty? 
I  read  in  this  a  disaffected  spirit. 

Tell.     Pardon  me,  good  my  lord !  The  action  sprung 
From  inadvertence, — not  from  disrespect. 
Were  I  discreet,  I  were  not  William  Tell  • 
Forgive  me  now — 111  not  offend  again. 

Gessler  {after  a  pause). 

I  hear.  Tell,  you're  a  master  with  the  bow, — 
And  bear  the  palm  away  from  every  rival. 

Walt.    That  must  be  true,  sir  !  At  a  hundred  yards 
He'll  shoot  an  apple  for  you  off  the  tree. 

Gessl.   Is  that  boy  thine,  Tell  ? 

Tell.  Yes,  my  gracious  lord 

Gessl.   Hast  any  more  of  them  ? 

Tell.  Two  boys,  my  lord. 

Gessl    And,  of  the  two,  which  dost  thou  love  the  most  ? 

Tell.      Sir,  both  the  boys  are  dear  to  me  alike. 

Gessl    Then,  Tell,  since  at  a  himdred  yaiUs  thou  canst 
Bring  down  the  apple  from  the  tree,  thou  shalt 
Approve  thy  skill  before  me.     Take  thy  bow — 
Thou  hast  it  there  at  hand— and  make  thee  ready 
To  shoot  an  apple  from  the  stripling's  head  ! 
But  take  this  counsel, — look  well  to  thine  aim, 
See,  that  thou  hitt'st  the  apple  at  the  first, 
Fcr,  shouldst  thou  miss,  thy  head  shall  pay  the  forfeit 

[All  give  sig7is  of  horror 


so.  in.] 


WILHELM    TELL. 


375 


Teli.. 


Tell. 


Gessl 
Tell. 


Gessl. 


What  monstrous  thing,  my  lord,  is  this  you  ask  ?     ^ 
That  I,  from  the  head  of  mine  own  child  !— No,  noj 
It  cannot  be,  luud  sir,  you  meant  not  that— 
God,  in  His  grace,  forbid !     You  could  not  ask 
A  father  seriously  to  do  that  thing ! 
Gessl.    Thou  art  to  shoot  an  apple  from  his  head  I 
I  do  desire— command  it  so. 

^\Tiat  I ! 
Level  my  crossbow  at  the  darling  head 
Of  mine  own  child  ?     No— rather  let  me  die  I 
Or  thou  must  shoot,  or  with  thee  dies  the  boy. 
Shall  I  become  the  murd'rer  of  my  chihl ! 
You  have  no  children,  sir— you  do  not  know 
The  tender  throbbiugs  of  a  father's  heart. 
How  now.  Tell,  so  discreet  upon  a  sudden 
I  had  been  told  thou  wert  a  visionary,— 
A  wanderer  from  the  paths  of  common  men. 
Thou  lovst  the  marvellous.     So  have  I  now 
CuU'd  out  for  thee  a  task  of  special  daring. 
Another  man  might  pause  and  hesitate ;  — 
Thou  dashest  at  it,  heart  and  soul,  at  once. 
Berth.  Oh,  do  not  jest,  my  lord,  with  these  poor  souls ! 
See,  how  they  tremble,  and  how  pale  they  look. 
So  little  used  are  they  to  heai-  thee  jest. 
Gessl.   Who  tells  thee,  that  I  jest?  ,.   ,     j 

[Grasping  a  hrancJi  above  Ins  head. 
Here  is  the  apple. 
Room  there,  1  say !  And  let  him  take  his  distance- 
Just  eighty  paces,- as  the  custom  is,— 
Not  an  inch  more  or  less  !     It  was  his  boast, 
That  at  a  hundred  he  could  hit  his  man. 
Now,  archer,  to  your  task,  and  look  you  miss  not ! 
Heavens  1  this  grows  serious— down,  boy,  on  your 

knees. 
And  beg  the  govemor  to  spai'o  your  liie. 
FuKST  {aside  to  Melchthal,  ivlio  can  scarcely  reslram  fui 
impatience). 
Command  yourself,— bo  calm,  I  beg  of  you ! 

Bertha  {to  the  governor).  ..    .    •  x 

Let  this  suffice  you,  sir !    It  is  inhuman 


Har. 


376  WILHELM   TELL.  [aCT   IIL 

To  trifle  with  a  father's  anguish  thus. 
Although  this  wretched  man  had  forfeited 
Both  life  and  limb  for  such  a  slight  offence, 
Already  has  he  suffer'd  tenfold  death. 
Send  him  away  uninjured  to  his  home ; 
He'll  know  thee  well  in  future  ;  and  this  hour 
He  and  his  children's  children  will  remember. 

Gessl     Open  a  way  there— quick!  Why  this  delay  ? 
Thy  life  is  forfeited ;   I  might  despatch  thee, 
And  see  I  graciously  repose  thy  fate 
Upon  the  skill  of  thine  own  practis'd  hand. 
No  cause  has  he  to  say  his  doom  is  harsh, 
Who's  made  the  master  of  his  destiny. 
Thou  boastest  of  thy  steady  eye.     'Tis  well  I 
Now  is  a  fitting  time  to  show  thy  skill. 
The  mark  is  worthy,  and  the  prize  is  great. 
To  hit  the  bull's  eye  in  the  target ; — that 
Can  many  another  do  as  well  as  thou  ; 
But  he,  methinks,  is  master  of  his  craft, 
Who  can  at  all  times  on  his  skill  rely, 
Nor  lets  his  heart  disturb  or  eye  or  hand 

FuRST    JMy  lord,  we  bow  to  your  authority ; 

But  oh,  let  justice  yield  to  mercy  here. 
Take  half  my  property,  nay,  take  it  all. 
But  spare  a  fatlier  this  unnatural  doom  ! 

Walt     Grandfather,  do  not  kneel  to  tbat  bad  man! 
Say,  where  am  I  to  stand  ?    I  do  not  fear ; 
My  father  strikes  the  bird  upon  the  wing. 
And  will  not  miss  now  when  'twould  harm  his  b.iy  I 

Stauff.  Does  tlie  child's  innocence  not  touch  your  heart? 

UossEL.  Bethink  you,  sir,  there  is  a  God  in  heaven. 

To  whom  you  must  account  for  all  your  deeds. 

Cessleu  {pointing  to  the  boy). 

Bind  him  to  yonder  lime  tree  straight ! 

Wat.tkr.  ^  Bind  me? 

No,  I  will  not  be  bound  !     I  will  be  still. 
Still  as  a  lamb— nor  even  draw  my  breath! 
But  if  you  bind  me,  I  can  not  be  still. 
Tlien  I  shall  writhe  and  struggle  with  my  bonds 

■FIab.  .  .  But  let  your  eyes  at  least  be  bandaged,  boy : 


BC.   in.]  WILHELM  TELL.  377 

Walt.    And  why  my  eyes  ?     No  !     Do  you  think  I  fear 
An  arrow  from  my  father's  hand  ?  Not  I ! 
I'll  wait  it  firmly^  nor  so  much  as  wink ! 
Quick,  fatlier,  show  them  that  thou  art  an  arcner! 
He  doubts  thy  skill— he  thuiks  to  ruin  us.  ^ 

Shoot  then,  and  hit,  though  but  to  spite  the  tyrant . 
[He  goes  to  the  lime  tree,  and  an  apple  is  placed 
on  his  head. 
Melchthal  {to  the  country  people). 

What !  Is  this  outrage  to  be  perpetrated 
Before  our  very  eyes  ?    Where  is  our  oath  ? 
Stauff.  'Tis  all  in  vaiu.     We  have  no  weapons  here ; 

And  see  the  wood  of  lances  that  surrounds  us  ! 
Melch.  Oh  !  would  to  Heaven  that  we  had  struck  ft  once! 

God  pardon  those,  who  counsell'd  the  delaj  . 
Gessi.er  (to  Tell).  . 

Now,  to  thy  task  !     Men  bear  not  arms  for  nought. 
'Tis  dangerous  to  carry  deadly  weapons. 
And  on  the  archer  oft  his  shaft  recoils. 
This  right,  these  haughty  peasaiit  churls  assume, 
Trenches  upon  their  master's  privileges. 
Kone  should  be  armed,  but  those  who  bear  command. 
It  pleases  you  to  wear  the  bow  a|ul  bolt  ;— 
Well,— be  it  so.      I  ^vill  provide  the  mark. 
Tell  {bends  the  bow,  and  fixes  the  arroiv). 

A  lane  there !  Room !  , ,  , 

Stauffaciier.  What,  Tell?     lou  would— no,  no  ! 

You  shake— your  hand's  unsteady-y  our  knees  tremble. 
Tell  (letting  the  bow  sink  down). 

There's  something  swims  before  mme  eyes ! 
,,.         .  Great  Heaven'. 

Women.  ^^       .  i     >.  i 

Tell       Release  me  from  this  shot !     Here  is  my  heart . 

[Tears  open  his  breast 
Summon  your  troopers -let  them  strike  me  down! 
Gessl.    I  do  not  want  thy  life,  Tell,  but  the  shot. 

Thy  talent's  universal !     Noth.ing  daunts  thee  ! 
Thou  canst  direct  the  rudder  like  the  bow ! 
Storms  fright  not  thee,  when  there's  a  life  at  stake . 
Kow,  savio'iu-,  help  thyself.— thou  savest  all ! 

[Tell    stands  fear/ally  agitated   by   contenduii 


378  WILHELM   TELL.  [ACT  III. 

emotions,  his  hands  moving  convulsively,  and 
his  eyes  turning  alternately  to  the  governor  ami 
Heaven.  Suddenly  he  takes  a  second  arrow 
from  his  quiver,  and  sticks  it  in  his  belt  The 
governor  tcatches  all  these  motions 
Walteu  (heneath  the  lime  tree). 

Come,  father,  shoot !  I'm  uot  afraid ! 
'j;£j_L  It  must  1)0 ' 

[Collects  himself  and  levels  the  bow 
RuDENZ  (u'/io  all  the  while  has  been  standing  in  a  state  of 
violent  excitement,  and  has  with  difficulty  restrainei 
himself,  advances). 
My  lord,  you  will  not  urge  this  matter  further 
You  will  not.     It  was  surely  but  a  test. 
You Ve  gained  your  object.     Rigour  push"d  too  far 
Is  sure  to  miss  its  aim,  however  good. 
As  snaps  the  bow  that's  all  too  straitly  bent. 
Gessl.    Peace,  till  your  counsel's  ask'd  for] 
RuDENZ  I  ^^ill  speak ! 

Ay,  and  I  dare  !     I  reverence  my  king ; 
But  acts  like  these  must  make  his  name  abhorr'd. 
He  sanctions  not  this  cmelty.    I  dare 
Avouch  the  fact.     And  you  outstep  your  powera 
In  handling  thus  an  unoffending  people. 
Gessl.   Ha!  thou  grow'st  bold,  methiuks! 
Rddenz.  I  hTiXQ  been  dumb 

<To  all  the  oppressions  I  was  doom'd  to  sec. 
I've  closed  mme  eyes,  that  they  might  not  bcholi 

them. 
Bade  my  rebellious,  swelling  heart  be  still, 
And  pent  its  struggles  down  within  my  breast. 
But  to  be  silent  longer,  were  to  be 
A  traitor  to  my  king  and  country  both. 
Beutua  (casting  herself  betucen  him  and  the  governor). 

Oh  Heavens  !  you  but  exasperate  his  rage  : 
RuD.  .     My  people  I  forsook— renounced  ray  kindred- 
Broke  all  the  ties  of  nature,  that  I  might 
'"Attach  myself  to  you.     I  madly  thought. 
That  I  should  best  advance  the  general  weal. 


gQ    jjjl  WILUELM   TELL.  379 

By  adding  sinews  to  the  Emperor's  power. 
The  scales  have  fallen  from  mine  eyes — I  see 
The  fearful  precipice  on  which  I  stand. 
You've  led  my  youthful  judgment  far  astray, — 
Deceived  my  honest  heart.     Witli  best  intent, 
I  had  well  nigh  achiev'd  my  country's  ruin. 
Gessl    Audacious  boy,  this  langimge  to  thy  lord  ? 
RuD.  .    The  Emperor  is  my  lord,  not  you !     I'm  free 
As  you  by  bu-th,  and  I  can  cope  vnth  you 
In  every  virtue  that  beseems  a  knight. 
And  if  you  stood  not  here  in  that  King's  name, 
Which  I  respect  e'en  where  'tis  most  abused, 
I'd  throw  my  gauntlet  down,  and  you  should  give 
An  answer  to  my  gage  in  knightly  foshion. 
Ay,  beckon  to  yom'  troopers  !     Here  I  stand  ; 
But  not  like  these  [Pointing  to  the  people. 

— unarmed.     I  have  a  sword, 
And  he  that  stirs  one  step- 


Stauffacher  {exclaivis).  The  apple's  down  ! 

r  [While  the  attention  of  the  croud  has  been  directed 
)       to  the  sjwt  where  Bertha  had  cast  herself  oe- 
'       ticcen  RuDENZ  and  Gessler,  Tell  has  shot. 
Rossel.  The  boy's  alive !  ,    ,      ,  ,      i  , 

Maky  voices.  The  apple  has  been  struck ! 

[Walter  Furst  staggers,  and  is  about  to  jau 
Bertha  supports  him 
Gessler  (astonished). 

How*?  Has  he  shot?  The  madman  ! 
Bertha  Worthy  father  1 

Pray  you,  compose  yourself.     The  boy's  ahvo. 
Walter  (runs  in  icith  the  apple). 

Here  is  the  apple,  father !    Well  I  knew. 
You  would  not  harm  your  boy 
'  [Tell  stands   tcith    his  body  bent  forwards,   as 
though  he  u-ould  follow  the  arrow.     His  bow 
drops  from  his  hand.      When  he  sees  the  botj 
advancing,  he  hastens  to  meet  him  tvith  open 
arms,   and  embracing   him  passionately   sinhsi 
'        dnnn  u'ith  him  quite  exhausted        All   crowd 
round  them  deeply  affected. 
Bertha.  Oh.  ye  kind  Heavens . 


380  WILIIELM   TELL.  [aCT   HI. 

FunsT  {to  father  and  son).     My  children,  my  dear  children ! 
Stauffacher  God  be  praised  ! 

Leuth    Almighty  powers  !     That  was  a  shot  indeed  ! 

It  will  be  talked  of  to  the  end  of  time. 
Har.  .    This  feat  of  Tell,  the  ai'cher,  will  be  told 

While  yonder  mountains  stand  upon  their  base 

[Hands  the  aj)ple  to  Gessleb 
G  ESSL.   By  Heaven !  the  apple's  cleft  right  through  the  core 

It  was  a  master  shot,  I  must  allow. 
TiOssKL.  The  shot  was  good.     But  woe  to  him,  who  drove 

The  man  to  tempt  his  God  by  such  a  feat! 
Stauff  Cheer  up,  Tell,  rise  !     You've  nobly  freed  yourself, 

And  now  may  go  in  quiet  to  your  home. 
RossEL.  Come,  to  the  mother  let  us  bear  her  son  ! 

{Theij  are  about  to  had  him  off 
Gessl    a  word.  Tell 

Tell.  Sir,  your  pleasure  ? 

Gessler.  Thou  didst  place 

A  second  arrow  in  thy  belt — nay,  nay  ! 

I  saw  it  well — what  was  thy  purpose  with  it? 
Tell  {confused).  It  is  a  custom  with  all  archers,  Sir 
Gessl.   No,  Tell,  I  cannot  let  that  answer  pass. 

There  was  some  other  motive,  well  I  know. 

Frankly  and  cheerfully  confess  the  truth; — 

Whate'er  it  be,  I  promise  thee  thy  life, 

Whei'efore  the  second  ari'ow  ? 
Tell,  Well,  my  lord, 

Since  you  have  promised  not  to  take  my  life, 

I  will,  without  reserve,  declare  the  truth. 

[He  draws  the  arrow  from  his  belt,  and  fixes  his 
eyes  sternly  upon  the  governor 

If  that  my  hand  had  struck  my  darling  child. 

This  second  arrow  I  had  aimed  at  you, 

And,  be  assured,  I  should  not  then  have  miss'd. 
Gessl.   Well,  Tell,  I  promised  thou  shouldst  have  thy  life; 

I  gave  my  knightly  word,  and  I  will  keep  it. 

Yet.  as  I  know  the  malice  of  thy  thoughts, 

I  will  remove  thee  hence  to  sure  confinement. 

Where  neither  sun  nor  moon  shall  reach  thine  eyes 

Thus  from  thy  arrows  I  shall  be  secure. 

Seize  on  him.  guards,  and  bind  him !  [I'hey  hind  hint. 


gC.  Ill,]  WimELil   lELL,  381 

Stauffacher.  How,  my  lord- 

How  can  you  treat  in  such  a  way  a  man. 
On  whom  God's  hand  has  plainly  been  reveal  d . 
Gessl.   Well,  let  us  see  if  it  will  save  him  twice ! 

Remove  him  to  my  ship ;  I'll  follow  straight 
In  person  I  will  see  him  lodged  at  Kiissnacht. 
RossEL.  You  dare  not  do"t.     Nor  durst  the  Emperors  self 

So  violate  our  dearest  chartered  rights. 
Gessl.   Where  are  they?   Has  the  Emp'ror  confirm'd  them  ? 
He  never  has.     And  only  by  obedience 
Need  you  expect  to  win  that  favour  from  hnn. 
You  are  all  rebels  'gainst  the  Emp'ror's  power,— 
And  bear  a  desperate  and  rebellious  spirit. 
I  know  you  all— I  see  you  through  and  through. 
Him  do  I  single  from  amongst  you  now, 
But  in  his  guilt  you  all  participate. 
The  wise  will  study  silence  and  obedience. 

[Exit,  followed  by  Bertha,   Rudenz,    Haruas, 
and  attendants.     Fbiesshardt  and  Leutholu 
remain. 
FuKST  [in  violent  anguish).  . 

All's  over  now  !     He  is  resolved,  to  bring 
Destruction  on  myself  and  all  my  house. 
Stauff.  {to  Tell).  Oh,  why  did  you  provoke  the  tyrant's  rage  ? 
Tell.     Let  him  be  calm  Avho  feels  the  pangs  I  felt. 
Stauff.  Alas  !  alas !  Our  every  hope  is  gone.      _ 

With  you  we  all  are  fettered  and  enchain  d 
Country  People  [surrouyuling  Tell). 

Our  last  remaining  comfort  goes  with  you! 
Leuth.  [approaching  him). 

Vm  sorry  for  you.  Tell,  but  must  obey 
Tell.     Farewell ! 
Walter  Tell  {clinging  to  him  in  great  agony). 

Oh,  father,"  father,  my  dear  father ! 
Tell  hwintinq  to  Heaven). 

Thy  father  is  on  high— appeal  to  him ! 
Stauff.  Hast  thou  no  message.  Tell,  to  send  thy  wifo? 
Tell,  {clasping  the  hoy  passionately  to  his  breast). 

The  boy's  uninjured  ;  God  will  succour  me  I 

[Tears  himself  suddenly  axvay^  and  foUoivs  the  sol- 
diers of  the  guard 


382  WTLHELM  TELL.  [aCT  IV. 

ACT  IV. 
Scene  I. 

Eastern  shore  of  the  Lake  of  Lucerne ;  rugged  and  singularly 
shaped  rocks  close  the  prospect  to  the  west.  The  lake  is  agi- 
tated, violent  roaring  and  rushing  of  tvind,  tilth  thunder  and 
lightning  at  intervals. 

KuNz  OF  Geiisau,  Fisherman  and  Boy. 

Kuxz      I  saw  it  with  these  eyes !     Believe  me,  friend, 
It  happen'd  all  precisely  as  I've  said. 

Fisher.  Tell  made  a  prisoner  and  borne  off  to  Kiissnacht? 
The  best  man  in  the  land,  the  bravest  arm, 
Had  we  resolved  to  strike  for  liberty ! 

KuNZ.     The  Vicercy  takes  him  up  the  lake  in  person: 
They  were  about  to  go  on  board,  as  I 
Left  Fliielen  ;  but  still  the  gathering  storm, 
That  drove  me  here  to  land  so  suddenly. 
Perchance  has  hindered  their  abrupt  departure. 

Fisher.  Our  Tell  in  chains,  and  in  the  Viceroy's  power  ! 
0,  trust  me,  Gessler  will  entomb  him,  where 
He  never  more  shall  see  the  light  of  day; 
For,  Tell  once  free,  the  tyrant  well  might  dread 
The  just  revenge  of  one  so  deep  incensed. 

KuNZ.     The  old  Landamman,  too — von  Attinghaus — 
They  say,  is  lying  at  the  point  of  death. 

Fisher  Then  the  last  anchor  of  our  hopes  gives  way ! 
He  was  the  only  man  that  dared  to  raise 
His  voice  in  favour  of  the  people's  riglits. 

KuNZ.     The  storm  grows  worse  and  worse.    So,  fare  ye  well! 
Ill  go  and  seek  out  quarters  in  tbe  village. 
There's  not  a  chance  of  getting  off  to-day.         [Exit- 

Fisher.  Tell  dragg'd  to  prison,  and  tlie  Baron  dead ! 
Now,  tyrann}',  exalt  thy  insolent  front, — 
Throw  shame  aside !     The  voice  of  truth  is  silenced, 
Tlie  eye  that  watch 'd  for  us,  in  darkness  closed, 
Tbe  ann  that  should  have  struck  thee  down,  in  chains  I 

Boy.  .     'Tis  bailing  hard — come,  let  us  to  the  cottage ! 
This  is  no  weather  to  be  out  in,  father! 

Fisher.  Rage  on,  ye  winds!  Ye  lightnings,  flash  your  fires! 
Burst,  ye  swollen  clouds  !  Ye  cataracts  of  Heaven, 
Descend,  and  drown  the  country!     In  the  germ. 


BC   J  n  WILHELM  TELL.  383 

Destroy  the  generations  yet  unborn ! 
Ye  savage  elements,  be  lords  of  all ! 
Pietuni.^ve  bears  ;  ye  ancient  Avolves,  return 
To  this  wide  howling  waste !  The  laud  is  youi-s 
Who  would  live  here,  when  liberty  is  gone  1 

Boy.     .  Hark!  Howthewindwhistles. and  the  whirlpool  roare, 
I  never  saw  a  storm  so  fierce  as  this ! 

Fisher.  To  level  at  the  head  of  his  own  child  ! 
Never  had  father  such  command  before. 
And  shall  not  nature,  rising  in  wild  wrath. 
Revolt  against  the  deed  ?     I  should  not  marvel, 
Though  to  the  lake  these  rocks  shouH  bow  theirheads, 
Though  yonder  pinnacles,  yon  towers  of  ice, 
Tbat.°since  creation's  dawn,  have  known  no  thaw. 
Should,  from  their  lofty  summits,  melt  away.— 
ThoufTh  vender  mountains,  yon  primeval  cliffs, 
Should  topple  down,  and  a  new  deluge  whelm 
Beneath  its  waves  all  living  men  s  abodes  I 

[Dells  heard 

Boy        Hark,  they  are  ringing  on  the  mountain,  yonder  1 
They  sure'lv  see  some  vessel  in  distress. 
And  toll  the  bell  that  we  may  pray  for  it. 

[Ascends  a  rock 

Fisher.  Woe  to  the  bark  that  now  pursues  its  course, 

Kock'd  in  the  cradle  of  these  storm-tost  waves ! 
Nor  helm  nor  steersman  here  can  aught  avail ; 
The  storm  is  master.     Man  is  like  a  ball, 
Toss'd  "twLxt  the  winds  and  billows,     bar  or  near, 
No  haven  offers  liim  its  friendly  shelter ! 
Without  one  ledge  to  grasp,  the  sheer  smooth  rocks 
Look  down  inhospitably  on  his  despair. 
And  only  tender  him  their  flinty  breasts- 
"Bo"!  (callinq  from  above).  t-i-  i 

^      Father,  a  ship ;  and  bearing  down  from  F  uelen 
Fisher.  Heaven  pity  the  poor  wretches!     When  the  stonn 
Is  once  entanglod  in  this  strait  of  oui-s. 
It  rages  like  some  savage  beast  of  prey. 
Stni'^f'li-ng  against  its  cages  iron  bars  ! 
Howafnt^,  it  seeks  an  outlet— all  in  vam; 
For  the^rocks  hedge  it  round  on  every  side, 
WallinfT  the  naiTow  pass  as  high  as  Heaven. 

°  [He  ascends  a  chf 


384  WILJIKLM    TELL.  [ACT   IV« 

Boy.  .  .  It  is  the  Governor  of  Uri's  ship ; 

By  its  red  poop  I  know  it,  and  the  flag. 

FisiiER.  Judgments  of  Heaven  !     Yes,  it  is  he  himself 
It  is  the  governor !     Yonder  he  sails. 
And  with  him  bears  the  burden  of  his  crimes 
Soon  has  the  arm  of  the  avenger  found  him ; 
Now  over  him  he  linows  a  mightier  lord. 
These  waves  yield  no  obedience  to  his  voice. 
These  rocks  bow  not  their  heads  before  his  cap. 
Boy,  do  not  pray ;  stay  not  the  Judge's  arm  I 

Bor.  .  .  I  pray  not  for  the  governor — I  pray 

For  Tell,  who  is  on  board  the  ship  with  him 
Fisher.  Alas,  ye  blind,  unreasoning  elements  ! 
Must  ye,  in  punishing  one  guilty  head, 
Destroy  the  vessel  and  the  pilot  too  ? 
BoT.     .  See,  see,  they've  clear 'd  the  Buggisgrat*  ;  but  no\R 
The  blast,  rebounding  from  the  Devils  Minster*. 
Has  driven  them  back  on  the  Great  Axenberg  •= 
I  cannot  see  them  now. 
FisnERMAN.  The  Hakmesser* 

Is  there,  that's  founder'd  many  a  gallant  ship. 
If  they  should  fail  to  double  tliat  with  skill. 
Their  bark  will  go  to  pieces  on  the  rocks. 
That  hide  their  jagged  peaks  below  the  lake. 
They  have  on  board  the  very  best  of  pilots. 
If  any  man  ciin  save  them.  Tell  is  he; 
But  he  is  manacled  both  hand  and  foot 

[Enter  William  Tell,  ivith  his  crosshoic.  lie 
enters  precipitately,  looks  icildhj  round,  and  tcs- 
ti/ies  the  most  violent  arfitation.  When  he  reaches 
the  centre  of  the  stage,  he  ihroivs  himself  upon  his 
knees,  and  stretches  ont  his  hands,  first  towards 
the  earth,  then  toicards  Heaven. 
Bot  [ohscrvinff  him). 

See,  father  !  Who  is  that  man,  kneeling  yonder* 
FisiiKR.  He  clutches  at  the  eailh  with  both  his  hands. 
And  looks  as  though  he  were  beside  himself. 
Boy  {advancimiX 

What  do  I  riee  ?     Father,  come  here,  and  look  ! 

•  Itocks  Oil  the  shore  of  the  Lake  of  Lucerne. 


I 


gC.  I.]  WILHELM    TELL.  385 

Fisherman  (approaches).  .. 

Who  is  it  ?     God  in  Heaven !  What !  William  Tell 

How  came  you  hither  ?  Speak.  Tell ! 
-^  •'  W  ere  you  not 

In  yonder  ship,  a  prisoner,  and  in  chains  ? 
Fisher.  Were  they  not  bearing  you  away  to  Kussnacht.'' 
Tell  (rising).     I  am  released  -,     ,      •      i    , 

Fisherman  ani  Boy.  Eeleased,  oh  miracle ! 

Boy.     .  Whence  came  you  here  ?      _ 
rf  „^  ^  From  yonder  vessel ! 

Fisherman 

Boy.      Where  is  the  Viceroy  ? 

^^^^  Drifting  on  the  waves. 

Fisher.  Is't  possible  ?  But  you !  How  are  you  here  ? 

How  'scaped  you  from  your  fetters  and  the  storm  f 
Tell.     By  God's  most  gracious  providence.     Attend. 
Fisher  a«i  Boy.     Say  on,  say  on!  .    .vi.q.rf? 

rj^^^^  You  know  what  passed  at  AUdorf  ' 

Fisher.  I  do— say  on !  .     -,       i  i,       j 

rj.j,^L.  How  I  was  seized  and  bound, 

And  order'd  by  the  governor  to  Kiissnacht. 
Fisher.  And  how  with  you  at  Fluelen  he  embarked. 

All  this  we  know.     Say,  how  have  you  escaped  .'' 
Tell.     I  lay  on  deck,  fast  bound  with  cords,  disarm'd, 
In  utter  hopelessness.     I  did  not  think 
Aoain  to  see  the  gladsome  light  of  day. 
Nor  the  dear  faces  of  my  wife  and  children, 
And  eyed  disconsolate  the  waste  of  waters. — 
Fisher.  Oh,  wretched  man ! 

Tell  Then  we  put  forth ;  the  \  iceroy 

Kudolph  der  Harras,  and  their  suite.     My  bow 
And  quiver  lay  astern  beside  the  helm ; 
And  just  as  we  had  reached  the  comer,  near 
The  Little  Axen*,  Heaven  ordain'd  it  so. 
That  from  the  Gotthardfs  gorge,  a  hurricane 
Swept  down  upon  us  with  such  headlong  force, 
That  every  rower  s  heart  within  him  sank. 
And  all  on  board  look'd  for  a  watery  giave. 
Then  heard  I  one  of  the  attendant  train, 

•  A  rock  on  the  shore  of  the  Lake  ot  Lucenw. 

'2  0 


386  WILHELII  TELL.  [acT  IV. 

Turning  to  Gessler,  iu  this  strain  accost  him: 
*•  You  see  our  danger,  and  your  own,  my  lord, 
And  that  we  hover  on  the  verge  of  death. 
The  boatmen  there  are  powerless  from  fear. 
Nor  are  they  confident  what  course  to  take  ; — 
Now,  here  is  Tell,  a  stout  and  fearless  man, 
And  knows  to  steer  with  more  than  common  skill 
How  if  we  should  avail  ourselves  of  him 
In  this  emergency  ?"     The  Viceroy  then 
Address 'd  me  thus:  "  If  thou  wilt  undertake 
To  bring  us  through  tliis  tempest  safely,  Tell, 
I  might  consent  to  free  thee  from  thy  bonds." 
I  answer 'd,  "  Yes,  my  lord,  Nvith  God's  assisiauce, 
III  see  what  can  be  done,  and  help  us  Heaven!" 
On  this  they  loosed  me  from  my  bonds,  and  I 
Stood  by  the  helm  and  fairly  steer'd  along  ; 
Yet  ever  eyed  my  shooting  gear  askance. 
And  kept  a  watchful  eye  upon  the  shore, 
To  find  some  point  where  I  might  leap  to  hind : 
And  when  I  had  descried  a  shelving  crag. 
That  jutted,  smooth  atop,  into  the  lake 

FisuER.  I  know  it.     'Tis  at  foot  of  the  Great  Axen  : 

But  looks  so  steep,  I  never  could  have  dreamt 
'Twere  possible  to  leap  it  from  the  boat. 

Tell.     I  bade  the  men  put  forth  their  utmost  might, 
Until  we  came  before  the  shelving  crag. 
For  there,  I  said,  the  danger  will  be  past ! 
Stoutly  they  pull'd,  and  soon  we  near'd  the  point  *. 
One  prayer  to  God  for  his  assisting  grace. 
And  straining  every  muscle,  I  brought  round 
The  vessel's  stem  close  to  the  rocky  wall ; 
Then  snatching  up  my  weapons,  with  a  bound 
I  swung  myself  upon  the  flattened  shelf, 
And  with  my  feet  thrust  off,  with  all  my  might, 
The  puny  bark  into  the  hell  of  waters. 
There  let  it  drift  about,  as  Heaven  ordains  ! 
Thus  am  I  here,  deliver'd  from  the  might 
Of  the  dread  storm,  and  man,  more  dreadful  stilt 

Fisher.  Tell,  Tell,  the  Lord  has  manifestly  wrought 
A  miracle  in  thy  behalf !  I  scarce 
Can  credit  my  Q\vn  ejes.     But  tell  me,  now, 


1 


gC.  II.]  WILHELM  TELL.  387 

Whithor  you  purpose  to  betake  yourself  ? 
For  you  will  be  in  peril,  should  the  Viceroy 
Chance  to  escape  this  tempest  with  his  life. 
Tell.      1  heard  him  say,  as  I  lay  bound  on  board, 
His  purpose  was  to  disembark  at  Brunnen  ; 
And,  crossing  Schwytz.  convey  me  to  liis  castle. 
FisHEB.  Means  he  to  go  by  land  ? 
rj^'j^j^L  So  he  intends 

Fisher.  Oh,  then,  conceal  yourself  without  delay  ! 

Not  twice  will  Heaven  release  you  from  his  grasp 
Tell.     Which  is  the  nearest  way  to  Arth  and  Kiissnacht  ? 
Fisher.  The  public  road  leads  by  the  way  of  Stemen, 
But  there's  a  nearer  road,  and  more  retu'ed. 
That  goes  by  Lowerz,  which  my  boy  can  show  you 
Tell  {gives  him  his  hand). 

May  Heaven  reward  your  kindness  !  Fai-e  ye  well. 

[^s  he  is  going,  he  comes  buck 
Did  not  you  also  take  the  oath  at  Eootli? 
I  heard  your  name,  methinks. 
Fisherman.  „  Yes,  I  was  there, 

And  took  the  oath  of  the  confederacy. 
Tell.     Then  do  me  this  one  favour :  speed  to  Biirgleu — 
]\ly  wife  is  anxious  at  my  absence — tell  her 
That  I  am  free,  and  m  secure  concealment. 
Fisheb.  But  whither  shall  I  tell  her  you  have  tied? 
Tell.     You'll  find  her  father  with  her,  and  some  more. 
Who  took  the  oath  with  you  upon  the  Rootli , 
Bid  them  be  resolute,  and  strong  of  heart, — 
For  Tell  is  free  and  master  of  his  arm  ; 
They  shall  heai-  further  news  of  me  ere  long. 
Fisher  What   have   you,  then,    in  view  ?     Come,  tell    me 

frankly:  ,     ^^   . 

Tell.      \Mien  once  'tis  done,  "twill  be  in  every  mouth.   [L.ctt. 
Fisher.  Show  him  the  way,  boy.     Heaven  be  his  support '. 

Whate'er  he  has  resolved,  he'll  execute.  [Exit. 

Scene   II. 

Baronial  mansion  of  Attinghamen.  The  Baron  upon  a 
couch  dying.  Walter  Furst,  Stauffacher,  Melchthal, 
and  Baumgarten  attending  round  him.  Walter  Tell 
kneeling  before  tlie  dying  man. 

Ftjest,  All  now  is  over  with  him.     He  is  goue      ^  ^ 


388  WILHELM  TEUi  [ACT  IT 

Stauff.  Ho  lies  not  like  one  dead.     The  feather,  see, 

Moves  on  his  lips  !  His  sleep  is  very  calm, 

And  on  his  features  plays  a  placid  smile. 

[Baumgarten  goes  to  the  door  and  speaks  with 
some  one. 
FuRST.   Who's  there  ? 
Baumgarten  {returning). 

Tell  3  wife,  your  daughter,  she  insists 

That  she  must  speak  with  you,  and  see  her  boy. 

[Walter  Tell  rises. 
FuBST.    I  who  need  comfort — can  I  comfort  her  ? 

Does  eveiy  sorrow  centre  on  my  head? 
Hedwig  (forcing  her  way  in). 

Where  is  my  child  ?   Unhand  me  !  I  must  see  him. 
Stauff.  Be  calm !  Reilect  you're  in  the  house  of  death ! 
Hedwig  {falling  upon  her  boy's  neck). 

My  Walter !  Oh,  he  yet  is  mine ! 
Walter.  Dear  mother ! 

Heuw    And  is  it  surely  so?  Art  thou  unhurt? 

[Gazing  at  him  ivith  anxious  tenderness 

And  is  it  possible  he  aim'd  at  thee? 

How  could  he  do  it?     Oh,  he  has  no  heart — 

And  he  could  wing  an  arrow  at  his  child ! 
FuRST    His  soul  was  rack'd  with  anguish  when  he  did  it. 

No  choice  was  left  him,  but  to  shoot  or  die ! 
Hedw.   Oh,  if  he  had  a  father's  heart,  he  would 

Have  sooner  perish'd  by  a  thousand  deaths ! 
Stauff.  You  should  be  grateful  for  God's  gracious  care, 

That  ordered  things  so  well. 
Hedwig.  Can  I  forget 

What  might  have  been  the  issue.     God  of  Heaveu. 

Were  I  to  live  for  centuries,  1  still 

Should  see  my  boy  tied  up,— his  father's  mark, — 

And  still  the  shaft  would  quiver  in  my  heart! 
Melch.  You  know  not  how  the  Viceroy  taunted  him ! 
Hedw.    Oh,  ruthless  heart  of  man !     Offend  his  pride. 

And  reason  in  his  breast  forsakes  her  seat ; 

In  his  blind  wrath  he'll  stake  upon  a  cast 

A  child's  existence,  and  a  mother's  heart! 
Baum.    Is  then  your  husband's  fate  not  hard  enough, 

That  you  embitter  it  by  such  reproaches  ? 

Have  you  no  feeling  for  his  sufferings  ? 


QQQ 

8C.  II.]  WILHELM   TEIX. 

Hedwig  burning  to  Mm  and  gazing  full  upon  Mm). 

Hast  thou  tears  only  for  thy  friend  s  distress  ? 
Say.  ^vhere  were  you  when  he-my  noble  Tell, 
Wa;  bound  in  chains?    Where  was  your  iriendship 

then  ?  ,    - 

The  shameful  wrong  was  done  before  your  eyes . 
Patient  you  stood,  and  let  your  fnend  be  dragg  d. 
Ay,  from  your  very  hands.     Did  ever  Tell 
Act  thus  to  you  ?     Did  he  stand  wnning  by 
When  on  your  heels  the  Viceroy  s  horsemen  pi  ess  d. 
And  full  before  you  roared  the  storm-toss  d  late  .' 
Oh  not  with  idle  tears  he  show'd  his  pity ; 
Into  the  boat  he  sprung,  forgot  his  home, 
His  wife,  his  cliildren,  and  delivered  thee ! 
FCRST.  It  had  been  madness  to  attempt  his  rescue, 
Unarm'd,  and  few  in  numbers  as  we  were.-" 
Hedwig  (casting  herself  upon  Ms  bosom). 

Oh  father,  and  thou,  too.  hast  lost  my  Tell! 
The  country-all  have  lost  him!  All  lament 
His  loss;  and.  oh,  how  he  must  pine  for  us! 
Heaven  keep  his  soui  from  sinking  to  despair! 
No  friend  s  consoling  voice  can  penetrate 
His  dreaiy  dungeon  walls.     Should  he  fall  sick ! 
Ah '  In  the  vapours  of  the  murky  vault 
He  must  fall  sick.     Even  as  the  Alpme  rose 
Grows  pale  and  withers  in  the  swampy  air, 
There  is  no  life  for  him,  but  in  the  sun, 
And  in  the  balm  of  Heaven's  refreshing  breeze. 
Imprison'd !  Liberty  to  him  is  breath  ; 
He  cannot  live  in  the  rank  dungeon  air. 
Stauff  Pray  you  be  calm!  And  hand  in  hand,  well  all 

Combine  to  burst  his  prison  doors.    ^.^^^^^^  ^.^^ 

'"what  have  you  power  to  do?  While  Tell  was  free. 
There  still,  indeed,  was  hope— weak  innocence 
Had  still  a  friend,  and  the  oppress  d  a  stay. 
Tell  saved  you  all !  You  cannot  all  coml.nied 
Release  him  from  his  cruel  prison  bonds 

[The  Bakon  xcakes 

Baum.    Hush,  hush!  He  starts!  . 

ArriNGHAUSEN  (Sitting  up).  Where  is  he  . 


Hedwig. 


390  WILHELM    TELL.  [ACT  IT. 

Stauffacher.  Who  ? 

A.TTINGHAUSEN.  He  Icaves  me,— » 

In  my  last  moments  he  abandons  me. 

Stauff.  He  means  his  nephew.     Have  they  sent  for  him? 

FuRST.    He  has  been  summoned.    Cheerlysir!  Take  comfort! 
He  has  found  his  heart  at  last,  and  is  our  own. 

Attino.  Say,  has  he  spoken  for  his  native  land  ? 

Stadff.  Ay,  like  a  hero  ! 

Attinghausex.  Wherefore  comes  he  not. 

That  he  may  take  my  blessing  ere  I  die  ? 
I  feel  my  life  fast  ebbing  to  a  close. 

St&cit.  Nay,  talk  not  thus,  dear  sir  I   This  last  short  sleep 
Has  much  refresh'd  you,  and  your  eye  is  bright. 

Atting.  Life  is  but  pain,  and  even  that  has  left  me ; 

My  sufferings,  like  my  hopes,  have  pass'd  away. 

[Obt>ervi}i(j  the  boy 
What  boy  is  that? 

FuRST.  Bless  him.     Oh,  good  my  lord  I 

He  is  my  grandson,  and  is  fatherless. 

[Hedwig  kneels  with  the  boy  before  the  dying  man 

Atting.  And  fatherless — I  leave  you  all,  ay  all  I 

Oh,  wretched  fate,  that  these  old  eyes  should  see 
My  country's  ruin,  as  they  close  in  death  I 
Must  1  attain  the  utmost  verge  of  life. 
To  feel  my  hopes  go  with  me  to  the  grave  ? 

Stauffacher  {to  Furst). 

Shall  he  depart  'mid  grief  and  gloom  like  this? 
Shall  not  his  parting  moments  be  illumed 
By  hope's  delightful  beams  ?  My  noble  lord, 
Eaise  up  your  drooping  spirit !     We  are  not 
Forsaken  quite — past  all  deliverance. 

Atting.  Who  shall  deliver  you  ? 

FuRST.  Ourselves.     For  know 

The  Cantons  three  are  to  each  other  pledged, 
To  hunt  the  tyrants  from  the  land.     The  league 
Has  been  concluded,  aiid  a  sacred  oath 
Confirms  our  union.     Fre  another  year 
Begins  its  circling  course — the  blow  shall  fall 
In  a  free  land  your  ashes  shall  repose. 

Atting.  The  lejigue  concluded  !  Is  it  really  so? 

Melcu.  On  one  day  shall  the  Cantons  rise  together 


g^,    jj  -j  WILHELM    tt^^  ^^1 

All  is  prepared  to  strike— and  to  this  hour 
The  secret  closelv  kept,  though  hundreds  share  it; 
The  ctround  is  ho'llow  'neath  the  tyrants'  feet; 
Their  davs  of  rule  are  nuraber'd.  and  ere  long 
No  trace*  of  their  dominion  shall  remaui. 
AiTiNG   Av.  but  their  casdes,  how  to  master  them? 
Melch.  On  the  same  day  they,  too.  are  doom  d  to  fall. 
XrriNG.  And  are  the  nobles  parties  to  this  league . 
Staoff.  We  trust  to  their  assistance  should  ^vf  need  it, 

\s  vet  the  peasantry  alone  have  sworn. 
Attino.  {raising  himself  up,  iii  great  astomshment.) 
And  have  the  peasantry  dared  such  a  deed 
On  their  own  charge,  ^nthout  the  nobles  aid— 
Eelied  so  much  on  their  own  proper  strength . 
Nav  then,  indeed,  they  want  our  help  no  more  ; 
We  may  go  do^vn  to  death  cheer'd  by  the  thought. 
That  after  us  the  majesty  of  man  ^ 

Will  live,  and  be  maintained  by  other  hanas. 

\He  lays  his  hand  upon  the  head  of  the  child,  tr/lo 
is  kneeling  before  him. 
From  this  bovs  head,  whereon  the  apple  lay, 
Your  new  and  better  liberty  shall  spring ; 
The  old  is  crumbling  do^^-n— the  times  are  changing- 
And  from  the  ruins  blooms  a  fairer  life. 

^""'"s"rse°e,  «5rsplendour  streams  .ro.nd  his  eye  ■ 

This  is  not  Nature's  last  expiring  flame, 
It  is  the  beam  of  renovated  life. 
ArriNG  From  their  old  towers  the  nobles  are  descendmg, 
\nd  swearing  in  the  towns  the  civic  oath. 
In  Uechtland  and  Thurgau  the  work  s  begun  ; 
The  noble  Bern  lifts  her  commanding  head. 
And  Fresburg  is  a  stronghold  of  the  tree  ; 
The  siirring  Zurich  calls  her  guilds  to  arms  ;— 
And  now.  behold  I—the  ancient  might  of  kings 
Is  shiver'd  'gainst  her  everlasting  walls. 

[He  speaks  what  follows  with   a  prophetic  tone 
his  utterance  rising  into  enthusiasm. 
I  see  the  princes  and  their  haughty  peers. 
Clad  all  in  steel,  come  striding  on  to  crusu 
A  harmless  shepherd  race  with  mailed  iftiul. 


392  WILHELM  TELL.  [ACT  IV. 

Desp'rate  the  conflict :  'tis  for  life  or  death ; 
And  many  a  pass  will  tell  to  after  years 
Of  glorious  victories  sealed  in  foemen's  blood  * 
The  peasant  throws  himself  with  naked  breast, 
A  willing  victim  on  their  serried  lances 
They  yield — the  flower  of  chivalry's  cut  down, 
And  freedom  waves  her  conquering  banner  high  ! 
[Grasps  the  hands  of  Walter  Fdrst  and  Stauf^ 

FACHER. 

Hold  fast  together,  then,— for  ever  fast  I 

Let  freedom's  haunts  be  one  in  heart  and  mind ! 

Set  watches  on  your  mountain  tops,  that  league 

May  answer  league,  when  comes  the  hour  to  strike. 

Be  one — be  one — be  one 

[He  falls  back  upon  the  cushion.  His  lifeless 
hands  contintie  to  grasp  those  of  Furst  and 
Staoffacher,  who  regard  him  for  some  mo- 
ments  in  silence,  and  then  retire,  overcome  tvith 
sorrow.  Meanwhile  the  servants  have  quietly 
pressed  into  the  chamber,  testifying  different  de- 
grees  of  grief.  Some  kneel  down  beside  him 
and  weep  on  his  body  :  while  this  scene  is  pass- 
ing, the  castle  bell  tolls. 
RuDENZ  (entering  hurriedly). 

Lives  he  ?    Oh  say,  can  he  still  hear  my  voice  ? 
Furst  {averting  his  face). 

You  are  out  seignior  and  protector  now ; 

Henceforth  this  castle  bears  another  name. 
RuDENZ  {gazing  at  the  body  with  deep  emotion). 

Oh,  God !  Is  my  repentance,  then,  too  late  ? 

Could  he  not  live  some  few  brief  moments  more, 

To  see  the  change  that  has  come  o'er  my  heart? 

Oh,  I  was  deaf  to  his  true  counselling  voice 

While  yet  he  walked  on  earth.     Now  he  is  gone, — . 

•  An  allusion  to  the  gallant  self-devotion  of  Arnold  Struthan  of  Winkel 
ried,  at  the  battle  of  Senipach,  [9th  July,  1386,]  who  broke  the  Austrian 
phalanx  by  rushing  on  their  lances,  grasping  as  many  of  them  as  he  could 
reach,  and  concentrating  them  upon  his  breast.  The  confederates  rushed 
forward  through  the  gap  thus  opened  by  the  sacrifice  of  their  comrade,  broke 
and  cut  down  their  enemy's  ranks,  and  soon  became  the  masters  of  the  field. 
"  Dear  and  faithful  confederates,  I  will  open  you  a  passage.  Protect  my 
wife  and  children,"  were  the  words  of  Winkelried,  as  he  rush'.'d  tc  death. 


gC.  II.]  WILHELM   TELL.  393 

Gone,  and  for  ever —leaving  me  the  debt— 
The  heavy  debt  I  owe  him— undischarged  . 
Oh  tell  me !  did  he  part  in  anger  witli  me  '> 
SiAXJFF.  When  dying,  he  was  told  what  you  had  done       ^ 
And  bless"d  die  valour  that  inspired  your  words  . 
Rddenz  (kneeling  doicn  beside  the  dead  body). 

Yes,  sacred  relics  of  a  man  beloved  !  , ,  ,       , 

Thou  lifeless  coi-pse !  Here,  on  thy  death-cold  liaud. 
Do  I  abjure  all  foreign  ties  for  ever ! 
And  to  my  countrj^'s  cause  devote  myself. 
I  am  a  Switzer,  and  will  act  as  one, 
With  my  whole  heart  and  soul.  [Rises. 

Mourn  for  our  1 1  ieud 
Our  common  parent,  yet  be  not  dismay 'd ! 
Tis  not  alone  his  lands  that  I  inherit, — 
His  heart— his  spirit,  have  devolved  on  me  ; 
And  my  young  arm  shall  execute  the  task, 
For  which  his  hoaiy  age  remain 'd  your  debtor. 
Give  me  your  hands,  ye  venerable  fathers  ! 
Thine,  Melchthal,  too  !  Nay,  do  not  hesitate, 
Nor  from  me  turn  distrustfully  away. 
Accept  my  plighted  vow— my  knightly  oath ! 
FuBST.    Give  him  your  hands,  my  friends  !  A  heart  like  his. 

That  sees  and  owns  its  error,  claims  our  tnist 
Melch.  You  ever  held  the  peasantry  in  scorn, 

What  surety  have  we,  that  you  mean  us  fair  ? 
Run.  .  .  Oh,  think  not  of  the  error  of  my  youth  ! 
Stauffachee  {to  Melchthal). 

Be  one !  They  were  our  father's  latest  words. 
See  they  be  not  forgotten ! 
Melch.  Take  my  hand,— 

*  A  peasant's  hand,— and  with  it,  noble  sir. 
The  gage  and  the  assurance  of  a  man ! 
Without  us,  sir,  what  would  the  nobles  be? 
Our  order  is  more  ancient,  too,  than  yours !_ 
Run        I  honour  it.  and  with  my  sword  will  shield  it ! 
Melch.  The  arm,  my  lord,  that  tames  the  stubborn  earth. 
And  makes  its  bosom  blossom  with  increase. 
Can  also  shield  a  man's  defenceless  breast. 
KuD.  .     Then  you  shall  shield  my  breast,  and  I  will  yours 
Thus  each  be  strengthen'd  by  the  others  aid  ! 


394  WILHELM    TELL.  [aCT   VI. 

Yet  wherefore  talk  we,  while  our  native  land 
Is  still  to  alien  tyranny  a  prey  ? 
First  let  us  sweep  the  foeman  from  the  soil. 
Then  reconcile  our  difference  in  peace  ! 

[After  a  moment's  pa  ute. 
How!  You  are  silent!     Not  a  word  for  me? 
And  have  I  jet  no  title  to  your  trust? — 
Then  must  I  force  ray  way,  despite  your  will, 
Into  the  League  you  secretly  have  form  d. 
You've  held  a  Diet  on  the  Rootli, — I 
Know  this, — know  all  that  was  transacted  there  J 
And  though  1  was  not  trusted  with  your  secret, 
1  still  have  kept  it  like  a  sacred  pledge. 
Trust  me,  I  never  was  ray  country's  foe, 
Nor  would  I  e'er  have  ranged  myself  against  ycu ! 
Yet  you  did  wrong — to  put  your  rising  off. 
Time  presses !  We  must  strike,  and  swiftly  too ! 
Already  Tell  has  fallen  a  sacrifice 
To  your  delay. 

Staufk.  We  swore  to  wait  till  Christmas. 

RuD.       I  was  not  there, — I  did  not  take  the  oath. 
If  you  delay,  I  will  not ! 

jMelchthal.  What !  You  would 

RuD.     .  I  count  me  now  among  the  country's  fathers. 
And  to  protect  you  is  ray  foreraost  duty. 

FuusT.   Within  the  earth  to  lay  these  dear  remains, 
That  is  your  nearest  and  most  sacred  duty. 

RuD.  .  .  When  we  have  set  the  country  free,  we'll  place 
Our  fresh  victonous  wreaths  upon  his  bier. 
Oh,  my  dear  friends,  'tis  not  your  cause  alone ! — 
I  have  a  cause  to  battle  with  the  tyrants. 
That  more  concerns  myself.     Know,  that  my  Bertha 
Has  disappear'd, — been  carried  off  by  stealth,— - 
Stolen  from  amongst  us  by  their  ruffian  hands  1 

Rtauff.  And  has  the  tyrant  dared  so  fell  an  outrage 
Against  a  lady  free  and  nobly  born  ? 

Rdd.     .  Alas  !   my  friends,  I  promised  help  to  you. 
And  I  must  first  implore  it  for  myself! 
She  that  I  love,  is  stolen — is  forced  away. 
And  who  knows  where  the  tyrant  has  conceal'd  her. 
Or  with  what  outrages  his  ruflian  crew 


395 

SC.   III.]  WILHELM   TELI. 

May  force  her  into  nuptials  she  detests? 
Forsake  me  not  l-Oh  help  me  to  her  rescue^ 
She  loves  you !     Well,  oh  well,  has  she  de  erved, 
That  all  should  rush  to  arms  m  her  behalt . 
STAT.FK  What  course  do  you  propose  ?     ^^^^^  ^  ^  ^^^^^  ^^^^ 
RuDENZ.^^^  the  dark  mvstery  that  shrouds  her  fate,- 
In  the  dread  agony  of  this  suspense — 
Where  I  can  grasp  at  nought  of  certamty,— 
One  single  ray  of  comfort  beams  upon  me. 
From  out  the  ruins  of  the  tyrant's  power 
Alone  can  she  be  rescued  from  the  grave. 
Their  strongholds  must  be  levell  d  !  every  one, 
Ere  we  can  pierce  into  her  gloomv  prison. 
Mklch.  Come,  lead  us  on !  We  follow  !  Why  defer 
Until  to-morrow,  what  to-day  may  do  . 
Tell-s  arm  was  free  when  we  at  Kootli  swore. 
This  foul  enormity  was  yet  undone. 
And  change  of  circumstance  brings  change  oi  law. 
Who  such  a  coward  as  to  waver  still  ? 
RuDENZ  (to  Walter  Furst).  _ 

Meanwhile  to  arms,  and  wait  m  readiness 
The  tiery  signal  on  the  mountain  tops. 
For  swifter  than  a  boat  can  scour  the  lake 
Shall  you  have  tidings  of  our  victorj' ; 
And  when  you  see  the  welcome  flames  ascend. 
Then,  like 'the  lightning,  swoop  upon  the  foe 
And  lay  the  despots  and  their  creatures  low  . 

Scene  III. 

The  vass  near  K-ussnacht,  slopinc,  down  from  behind  with  rocks 

olZ   rside.     The  travellers  are  v,sihle  upon  the  heights, 

l7or    tJy  appear  on  the  stage.     Eocks  all  round  the  stage 

Upon  one:^  of  the  foremost  a  projecting  chff  overgrown  wUh 

hriishirood. 
Tei  I.  [enters  rcith  his  crossbow). 

Here  thro'  this  deep  defile  he  needs  must  pass  . 
There  leads  no  other  road  to  Kiissnacht :— here 
l-[\  (lo  it:— the  opportunity  is  good. 
Yon  alder  tree  stands  well  for  my  concealment. 
Thence  rov  avengi'.Gf  fhaft  will  surely  reach  hiin 


396  WILHELM  TELL.  [aOT  IV. 

The  straitness  of  the  path  forbids  pursuit. 

Now,  Gessler,  balance  thine  account  with  Heaven ! 

Thou  must  away  from  earth, — thy  sand  is  run. 

I  led  a  peaceful  inoffensive  Hfe ; — 
My  bow  was  bent  on  forest  game  alone. 
And  my  pure  soul  was  free  from  thoughts  of  murder — 
But  thou  hast  scared  me  from  my  dream  of  peace; 
The  milk  of  human  kindness  thou  hast  turn'd 
To  rankling  poison  in  my  breast ;  and  made 
Appalling  deeds  familiar  to  my  soul. 
He  who  could  make  his  own  child's  head  his  mark, 
Can  speed  his  arrow  to  his  foeman's  heart. 

My  children  dear,  my  lov'd  and  faithful  wife, 
Must  be  protected,  tyrant,  from  thy  fury  ! — 
When  last  I  drew  my  bow — with  trembling  hand- 
And  thou,  with  murderous  joy.  a  father  forced 
To  level  at  his  child — when,  all  in  vain. 
Writhing  before  thee,  I  implored  thy  mercy — 
Then  in  the  agony  of  my  soul,  I  vow'd 
A  fearful  oath,  which  met  God's  ear  alone. 
That  when  my  bow  next  wing'd  an  arrow's  flight, 
Its  aim  should  be  thy  heart. — The  vow  I  made, 
Amid  the  hellish  torments  of  that  moment, 
I  hold  a  sacred  debt,  and  I  will  pay  it. 

Thou  art  my  lord,  my  Emperor's  delegate ; 
Yet  would  the  Emperor  not  have  stretch 'd  his  power 
So  far  as  thou. — He  sent  thee  to  these  Cantons 
To  deal  forth  law — stem  law — for  he  is  anger'd  ; 
But  not  to  wanton  with  unbridled  will 
In  ever)'  cruelty,  with  fiend-like  joy  : — 
There  is  a  God  to  punish  and  avenge. 

Come  forth,  thou  bringer  once  of  bitter  pangs. 
My  precious  Jewel  now,  —  my  chiefest  treasure — 
A  mark  I'll  set  thee,  which  the  cry  of  grief 
Could  never  penetrate, — but  thou  shalt  pierce  it.— 
And  thou,  my  trusty  bowstring,  that  so  oft 
^as  served  me  faithfully  in  sportive  scenes. 


397 

8C.   in.]  WILHELM   TELL 

Desert  me  not  in  this  most  serious  hour  — 
Only  be  true  this  once,  my  own  good  cord. 
That  hast  so  often  wing'd  the  bitmg  shatt  >- 
For  shouldst  thou  fly  successless  from  my  hand, 
I  have  no  second  to  send  after  thee. 

[Travellers  pass  over  the  stage. 

Ill  sit  me  down  upon  this  bench  of  stone, 
Hewn  for  the  way-worn  traveller's  bnef  repose - 
For  here  there  is  no  hoiue.-Each  hurnes  by 
The  other,  ^vith  quick  step  and  careless  look, 
Nor  stays  to  question  of  his  gnef.— Here  goes 
The  merchant,  full  of  care,-the  pilgrim,  next 
With  slender  scrip,-and  then  the  pious  monk. 
The  scowling  robber,  and  the  jovial  player, 
The  carrier  with  his  heavy-laden  horse, 
That  comes  to  us  from  the  far  haunts  of  men ; 
For  every  road  conducts  to  the  worids  end. 
Thev  all  push  on  wards -every  man  intent 
On  his  own  several  business-mine  is  murder.  ^^^^ 

Time  was,  my  dearest  cliildren,  when  with  joy 
You  hail'd  your  father's  safe  return  to  home 
Yrom  his  long  mountain  toHs;  for,  when  he  came. 
He  ever  brought  some  little  present  with  him 
A  lovely  Alpine  flower— a  curious  bird— 
Or  elf-boat,  found  by  wanderer  on  the  hills.— 
But  now  he  goes  in  quest  of  other  game  : 
In  the  ^vild  pass  he  sits,  and  broods  on  murder; 
And  watches  for  the  life-blood  of  his  foe  — 
But  still  his  thoughts  are  fixed  on  you  alone, 
Dear  children.-'Tis  to  guard  your  innocence. 
To  shield  you  from  the  tj-rant-s  ff  rf;.^;^Se. 
He  bends  his  bow  to  do  a  deed  of  blood !  [i?»se.. 

I  Well— I  am  watching  for  a  noble  prey- 

Does  not  the  huntsman,  with  severest  toil. 
Roam  for  whole  days,  amid  the  ^vlnter  s  cold. 
Leap  with  a  daring  bound  from  rock  to  rock  - 
And^limb  the  jagged,  slippery  steeps,  to  w^i^ 
His  Umbs  are  glued  by  his  own  streammg  blood— 


398 


WXLHELM  TELL. 


[act  IV 


Stussi 


Tell. 

Stussl 


Tell. 
Stussi 


Tell. 
Stussi. 


And  all  this  but  to  gain  a  wretched  chamois 
A  far  more  precious  prize  is  now  my  aim — 
The  heart  of  that  dire  foe,  who  would  destroy  me. 
[Sprighthj  music  heard  in  the  distance,  which  comes 
gradually  nearer. 
From  my  first  years  of  boyhood  I  have  used 
The  bow — been  practised  in  the  archer  s  feats ; 
The  bulls  eye  many  a  time  ray  shafts  have  hit, 
And  many  a  goodly  prize  have  I  brought  home, 
Won  in  the  games  of  skill.— This  day  I'll  make 
My  master-shot,  and  win  the  highest  prize 
Within  the  whole  circumference  of  tlie  mountains. 
[^4  marriage  train  passes  over  the  stage,  and  goes 
up  the  pass.     Tell  gazes  at  it.  leaning  on  his 
how.     He  is  joined  by  Stussi  the  Ranger. 
There  goes  the  bridal  party  of  the  steward 
Of  Morlischachen's  cloister.     He  is  rich  I 
And  has  some  ten  good  pastures  on  the  Alps. 
He  goes  to  fetch  his  bride  from  Imisee, 
There  will  be  revelry  to-night  at  Kiissnacht. 
Come  with  us  — ev'ry  honest  man's  invited. 
A  gloomy  guest  tits  not  a  wedding  feast. 
If  grief  oppress  you,  dash  it  from  your  heart ! 
Bear  with  your  lot.     The  times  are  heavy  now. 
And  we  mi;st  snatch  at  pleasure  while  we  can. 
Here  'tis  a  bridal,  there  a  burial. 
And  oft  the  one  treads  close  upon  the  other. 
So  runs  the  world  at  present.     Everywhere 
We  meet  with  woe  and  misery  enough. 
There's  been  a  slide  of  earth  in  Glams,  and 
A  whole  side  of  the  Glarnisch  has  fallen  in. 
Strange !  And  do  even  the  hills  begin  to  totter  J* 
There  is  stability  for  nought  on  earth 
Strange  tidings,  too,  we  hear  from  other  parts. 
I  spoke  with  one  but  now,  that  came  from  Badeu, 
Who  said  a  knight  was  on  his  way  to  court, 
And,  as  he  rode  along,  a  swarm  of  wasps 
Surrounded  him,  and  settling  on  his  horse. 
So  fiercely  stung  the  beast,  that  it  fell  dead, 
And  he  proceeded  to  the  court  on  foot. 


399 

BC.  III.]  WILHELM   TELL 

Tei  I      Even  the  Nveak  are  furnish'd  with  a  sting. 

Ahmgakt  (eutm  with  several  chUdren,  and  places  herself  at  the 

entrance  of  the  pass). 
Stussi    Tis  thought  to  bode  disaster  to  the  country,- 
^""'''-    Som    hon-id  deed  against  the  course  o   nature 
Tell      Why,  every  day  brings  forth  such  fearful  deed.  , 

There  needs  no  miracle  to  tell  then-  coining. 
Stussi.   Too  true!  He  s  bless'd.^io  tills  his  field  in  pea.e. 

And  sits  untroubled  by  his  own  fireside. 
Tell     The  very  meekest  cannot  rest  m  quiet, 

Unless  it  suits  with  his  ill  neighbour  s  humour 

[Tell  looks  frequently  with  restless  expectation  to 
wards  the  top  of  the  pass 
Stussi.   So  fare  you  well !  You're  waitmg  some  one  here  ? 

S^^si.  '  '"•      A  pleasant  meeting  with  your  friends ! 
You  are  from  Un,  are  you  not?    His  grace 
The  governor's  expected  thence  to-day. 

TRAYEtLER  (entenng). 

Look  not  to  see  the  govenior  to-day.        _ 
The  streams  are  flooded  by  the  heavy  rams, 
And  all  the  bridges  have  been  swept  away. 

Aemgabt  [coming  forward). 

The  Viceroy  not  arnv  6.  i  i   i  -^  •> 

Stussl  And  do  you  seek  Inm. 

Arm.  . .  Alas,  I  do!  ,f 

clssT  But  why  thus  place  yourself 

Where  vou  obstruct  his  passage  do^^^l  the  pass . 

ABM  . .  Here  he  cannot  escape  me.     He  must  hear  me. 

F^ESS  (coming  hastily  down  the  pass  and  calls  upon  the  .ta.ei 
Make  way,  make  way !  My  lord  the  goyerno, , 
Is  coming  down  on  horseback  close  ^^^"^^^^•^.^.,^ 

Aemoabt  (with  animation). 

The  Viceroy  comes !  j  wj    „ 

\She   goes  towards  Ine  pass   with   her   children 
Gessler  and  Rudolph  der  Habeas  appear 
upon  the  heights  on  horseback. 
Stussi  [to  Friesshardt).    How  got  ye  thi-ough  the  stream. 
When  all  the  bridges  have  been  earned  down  ? 


400  WILHELM  TELL.  [ACT  IV. 

Friess.  We've  battled  with  the  billows;  and,  my  friend, 
An  Alpine  torrent's  nothing  after  that. 

Stdssi.  How  !  Were  you  out,  then,  in  that  dreadful  storm  ? 

Friess.  Ay,  that  we  were  !    I  shall  not  soon  forget  it. 

Stussi.   Stay,  speak — 

Friess.  I  cannot.     I  must  to  the  castle, 

And  tell  them,  that  the  governor's  at  hand.       [Exit. 

Stussi.  If  honest  men,  now,  had  been  in  the  ship, 

It  had  gone  down  with  every  soul  on  board  : — 
Some  folks  are  proof  'gainst  fire  and  water  both. 

[Looking  round 
Where  has  the  huntsman  gone,  with  whom  I  spoke  ? 

[Exit 

Enter  Gessler  and  Rudolph  der  Harras  on  horseback 

Gessl.    Say  what  you  please ;  I  am  the  Emperor's  servant, 
And  my  first  care  must  be  to  do  his  pleasure. 
He  did  not  send  me  here  to  fawn  and  cringe 
And  coax  these  boors  into  good  humour.     No  ! 
Obedience  he  must  have.     We  soon  shall  see, 
If  king  or  peasant  is  to  lord  it  here  ? 

Arm.  . .  Now  is  the  moment !  Now  for  my  petition ! 

Gessl.    'Twas  not  in  sport  that  I  set  up  the  cap 

In  Altdorf — or  to  try  the  peoples  hearts — 
All  this  I  knew  before.     I  set  it  up 
That  they  might  learn  to  bend  those  stubborn  necks 
They  carry  far  too  proudly — and  I  placed 
What  well  I  knew  their  eyes  could  never  brook 
Full  in  the  road,  which  they  perforce  must  pass, 
That,  when  their  eye  fell  on  it,  they  might  call 
That  lord  to  mind  whom  they  too  nnich  forget. 

Hab.  .  ■  But  surely,  sir,  the  people  have  some  rights — 

Grssl.   This  is  no  time  to  settle  what  they  are. 

Great  projects  are  at  work,  and  hatching  now 
The  Imperial  house  seeks  to  extend  its  power. 
Those  vast  designs  of  conquest,  which  the  sire 
Has  gloriously  begun,  the  sou  will  end. 
This  petty  nation  is  a  stumbling-block — 
One  way  or  other,  it  must  be  subjected. 

[They  are   about  to  pass   on.     Armgart  throivt 
herself  down  before  Gessijir. 


401 
8C.  in.1  ^^^^^^  ''^^'^• 

ABM       Mercy,  lord  governor !  Oh  pardon,  pardon  \ 
Gessl.    Wh/do  you  cross  me  on  the  public  road  . 

Stand  back,  I  say.  ^^^^^^^  ^.^^  .^  ^^^^^  . 

^^^"'^My  ^vretched  orphans  cry  for  bread.     Have  pity. 

Pitv  my  lord,  upon  our  sore  distress  . 
Hab     .  mo  7e  you  woman ;  and  ^^o  is  your  husband  ? 
ABM        A  poor  wild-hay-man  of  the  Pagiberg, 

Kind  sir  who  on  the  brow  of  the  abyss. 

Mows  dov^  the  grass  from  steep  and  craggy  shelves. 

To  which  the  very  cattle  dare  not  climb. 

Habbas  {to  Gessleb).  .  , 

By  Heaven !  a  sad  and  miserable  life  . 
I  prithee,  give  the  wretched  man  his  freedom. 
How  great  soever  his  offence  may  be. 
His  horrid  trade  is  punishment  enough.^^  ^^^^^^ 

You  shall  have  justice.    To  the  castle  bring 
Your  suit.    This  is  no  place  to  deal  with  it. 
Arm     .  No,  no.  I  will  not  stir  from  where  I  stand 
'    Until  ^our  grace  restore  my  husband  to  me. 
Six  months  already  has  he  been  m  prison. 
And  waits  the  sentence  of  a  J^^ge  in  vam  , 

-Hnw  I  would  vou  force  me,  woman  ?  Hence  .  £>egone . 
tlT  Jusdel^lUd^  Ay,  justice!  Thou  art  judge : 
''"'"■  •  •  The  deputy  of  the  Emperor-of  Heavei. 

Then  do  thy  duty,-as  thou  hopest  for  justice 
From  Him  who  rules  above,  show  it  to  us 
Gessl    Hen",  di-ive  this  daring  rabble  from  my  sight ! 
A^o^i^^^^  it Ung  more  to  lose^ 
Thou  stirr  St  not.  Viceroy,  from  this  spot  until 
iEou  dost  me  fullest  justice.     Knit  thy  brows. 
iSd  roll  thy  eyes-I  fear  not.     Our  distress 
I^so  extreme,  so  boundless,  that  we  care 
No  longer  for  thine  anger,     ^^^^^^^^^^^j 

^^'''^^'^Give  way.  I  say,  or  I  will  ride  thee  do^ni. 

before  him.  2  ^ 


402  WILHELM   TELL  [aCT   IV. 

Here  on  the  ground  I  lie, 
I  and  my  children.     Let  the  wretched  orphans 
Be  trodden  by  thy  horse  into  the  dust ! 
It  will  not  be  the  worst,  that  thou  hast  done 
Har.  .  .  Are  you  mad,  woman? 
A-RMGART  {continuing  with  vehemence). 

Many  a  day  thou  hast 
Trampled  the  Emperor's  lands  beneath  thy  feet 
Oh,  I  am  but  a  woman  !  Were  I  man, 
I'd  find  some  better  thing  to  do,  than  here 
Lie  grovelling  in  the  dust. 

[The  music  of  the  ivedding  party  is  again  heard 
from  the  top  of  the  pass,  but  more  softly 
Gessler.  Where  are  my  knaves  ? 

Drag  her  away,  lest  I  forget  myself, 
And  do  some  deed  I  may  repent  hereafter. 
Har  . .  My  lord,  the  servants  cannot  force  a  passage  ; 

The  pass  is  block'd  up  by  a  marriage  party. 
Gessl    Too  mild  a  ruler  am  I  to  this  people. 

Their  tongues  are  all  too  bold — nor  have  they  yet 
Been  tamed  to  due  submission,  as  they  shall  be. 
I  must  take  order  for  the  remedy ; 
I  will  subdue  this  stubborn  mood  of  theirs, 
And  crush  the  Soul  of  Liberty  within  them. 
I'll  publish  a  new  law  throughout  the  land  ; 
I  will— 

[An  arrow  pierces  him, — he  puts  his  hand  on  his 
heart,  and  is  about  to  sink — with  a  feeble  voice, 
Oh  God,  have  mercy  on  my  soul ! 
Har.  . .  My  lord !  my  lord  !  Oh  God !  What's  this  ?  Whence 

came  it  ? 
Armgart  (starts  up). 

Dead,  dead !  He  reels,  he  falls  !  'Tis  in  his  heart ! 
Hauras  {springs  from  his  horse). 

This  is  most  horrible !  Oh  Heavens  !  sir  knight, 
Address  yourself  to  God  and  pray  for  mercy, — 
You  are  a  dying  man. 
Gessler.  That  shot  was  Tell's 

[He  slides  from  Jiis  horse  into  the  arms  of  Ru- 
dolph DER  Harras,  who  lays  him  down  upon 
the  bench.     Tell  appears  above  upon  the  rocks. 


SC.  III.]  WILHELM   TELL.  "iO^ 

Tell.     Thcu  knovr'st  the  archer,  seek  no  other  hand 
Our  cottages  are  free,  and  innocence 
Secure  from  thee  :  thou'lt  be  our  curse  no  more. 

[Tell  disappears.     People  rush  in 
Stxjssi    What  is  the  matter  ?     Tell  me  what  has  happen'd? 
Arm.  .  .  The  governor  is  shot,— kilVd  by  an  arrow ! 
People  (running  in). 

Who  has  been  shot  ? 

[While  the    foremost  of  the  marriage  party  are 
coming  on  the  stage,  the  hindmost  are  still  upon 
the  heighis.     The  music  continues. 
Harras  He's  bleeding  fast  to  death. 

Away,  for  help— pursue  the  murderer  I 
Unhappy  man,  ist  thus  that  thou  must  die  ? 
Thou  wouldst  not  heed  the  warnings  that  I   gave 
thee  ! 
Stussl  By  Heaven,  his  cheek  is  pale !  His  life  ebbs  fast. 
Maxt  Voices 

Who  did  the  deed  ? 
Harras  What !  Are  the  people  mad, 

That  they  make  music  to  a  murder  ?  Silence  ! 

[Music  breaks  off  suddenly.     People  continue  to 
flock  in. 
Speak,  if  thou  canst,  my  lord.     Hast  thou  no  charge 
To  intrust  me  with  ? 

[Gessler  makes  signs  with  his  hand,  ichich  he 
repeats  tcith  vehemence,  when  he  finds  they  are 
not  understood. 
*  What  would  you  have  me  do  ? 

^  Shall  I  to  Kiissnacht  ?     I  can't  guess  your  meaning. 

Do  not  give  way  to  this  impatience.     Leave 
All  thoughts  of  earth,  and  make   your  peace  with 
Heaven. 
[The   whole   marriage   party    gather   round    the 
dying  man. 
Btussi.  See  there!  how  pale  he  grows!    Death's  gatheiiiig 
now 
About  his  heart :— his  eyes  grow  dim  and  glazed. 
Abmgaut  [holds  up  a  child). 

Look,  children,  how  a  tyrant  dies  ! 

2d2 


404  WILHELM   TELL  [aCT   IV. 

Harras  Mad  hag ! 

Have  you  no  touch  of  feeling,  that  you  look 
On  horrors  such  as  these,  without  a  shudder  ? 
Help  me — take  hold.     What,  will  not  one  assist 
To  pull  the  torturing  arrow  from  his  breast  ? 
Women.  We  touch  the  man  whom  God's  own  hand  has  struck! 
Har.      All  curses  li^ht  on  you  !  [Draivs  his  sword. 

Stossi  [seizes  his  arm).  Gently,  sir  knight ! 

Your  power  is  at  an  end.     'Twere  best  forbear. 
Our  country's  foe  is  fallen.     We  will  brook 
No  further  violence.     We  are  free  men. 
All.       The  country's  free  ! 

Harras.  And  is  it  come  to  this  ? 

Fear  and  obedience  at  an  end  so  soon  ? 

[To  the  soldiers  of  the  guard,  who  are  thronging  in. 
You  see,  my  friends,  the  bloody  piece  of  work 
They've  acted  here.     'Tis  now  too  late  for  help, 
And  to  pursue  the  murderer  were  vain. 
New  duties  claim  our  care.     Set  on  to  Kftssnacht, 
And  let  us  save  that  fortress  for  the  king ! 
For  in  an  hour  like  this,  all  ties  of  order. 
Fealty  and  faith,  are  ecatter'd  to  the  winds. 
No  man's  fidelity  is  to  be  trusted. 

\_As  he  is  going  out  wich  the  soldiers,  six  Fratre8 
Misericord i^  appear. 
Arm.     .  Here  come  the  brotherhood  of  mercy.     Room ! 
Stdssi.  The  victim's  slain,  and  now  the  ravens  stoop. 
Brothers  of  Mercy  {form  a  semicircle  round  the  body,  and 
sing  in  solemn  tones). 
With  hasty  step  death  presses  on,  I 

Nor  grants  to  man  a  moment's  stay, 
He  falls  ere  half  his  race  be  run, 

In  manhood's  pride  is  swept  away : 
Pre  par 'd,  or  unprepar'd,  to  die. 
He  stands  before  his  Judge  on  high. 

[While  they  are  repeating  the  two  last  lines,  the 
curtain  falls. 


405 

8C.  1.1  WILHELM  TELL. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. 
ju^nrf     hi  the  background  to  the  right  tha 
A  -r-- --f,f;;^^^^^^^  as  in  the  Th.d 

distances  , 

R.ODI,   K.ONI,   Wekki,   Masxkb  MASO^'    ani   -a«,  ot^r 

counVry  2>eoi;?.,  also  u-om.n  and  Ju?dr.,^ 

RnoBi.   Look  at  the  fieiy  signals  on  the  mountains ! 
Mason.  Hark  to  the  bells  above  the  forest  there . 
RuoDi.  The  enemy's  expelled.    ^^  ^^^.,^  ^,  ^ten. 

RuoDi  ■  And  we  of  Uri.  do  we  still  endure 

Upon  our  native  soil,  the  tyrant  s  Keep  ? 
Are  we  the  last  to  strike  for  hberty  .'' 

M.SOK.  ttall  the  ^oke  sund,  that  was  to  bow  o«  necks? 
Up !  Teat  it  to  the  ground !    ^^^^  ^^^  ^^  .^ , 

Ayr 

IltJODi.  Where  isthe  Stier  of  Uri  ?     ^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^  ^,^  , 

SroDi.'  Up  to  your  tower,  and  wind  -  -f^^^^?-^ 
As  shall  resound  afar,  from  hill  to  tnii , 
Rousing  the  echoes  of  each  peak  and  glen. 

Let's  wait  till  we  receive  intelligence !         .    ,     , 
R.ODI    wX-1  for  what?     The  accursed  tyrant s  dead, 
^""^        And  ihe  bright  day  of  liberty  has  daW ! 
Mason    How!  Do  these  flaming  signals  not  suffice 
^  That  blaze  on  every  mountam  top  around? 

EuoDi    Come  all,  fall  to-come,  men  and  v^omen  al  ! 

Destroy  the  scaffold  !  Tear  the  arches  doxN-n! 

Down  with  the  walls ,  let  not  a  stone  remain 
Mason.  Co^,  comrades,  come  !     We  built  it,  and  we  know 

How  best  to  hm-1  it  doNvn 


406 
Aix. 
Fdrst 
Melch 

FuRST. 

Melch 


FuRST. 

Melch 


Fdrst. 
Melch. 


FuRST. 

Melch, 


FuRST. 

Melch 


wu-helm  tell.  r^cT  v. 

Come  !   iXjwit  with  it ! 
[They  fall  upon  the  building  at  every  side 

The  floodgates  burst      They're  not  to" be  restrained. 
[Enter  Melchthal  and  Baumgarten. 

\Miat !  Stands  the  fortress  still,  when  Samen  lies 

In  ashes,  and  when  Rossberg  is  a  ruin  ? 

You,  Melchthal,  here ?     Dye  bring  us  liberty? 

Say,  have  you  freed  the  country  of  the  foe  ? 

We've  swept  them  from  the  soil.  Rejoice,  my  friend; 

Now,  at  this  very  moment,  while  we  speak, 

There's  not  a  tyrant  left  in  Switzerland  ! 

How  did  you  get  the  forts  into  your  power? 

Rudenz  it  was  who  with  a  gallant  arm, 

And  manly  daring,  took  the  keep  at  Samen. 

The  Rossberg  I  had  storm 'd  the  night  before. 

But  hear,  what  chanced.  Scarce  had  we  driven  the  foe 

Forth  from  the  keep,  and  given  it  to  the  flames, 

That  now  rose  crackling  upwards  to  the  skies. 

When  from  the  blaze  rush'd  Diethelm,  Gessler's  page. 

Exclaiming,  "  Lady  Bertha  will  be  burnt !  " 

Good  heavens ! 

[The  beams  of  the  scaffold  are  heard  falling 
'Twas  she  herself.     Here  had  she  been 

Immured  in  secret  by  the  Viceroy's  orders. 

Kudenz  sprang  up  in  frenzy.     For  we  heard 

The  beams  and  massive  pillars  crashing  down. 

And  through  the  volumed  smoke  the  piteous  shrieks 

Of  the  unhappy  lady. 

Is  she  saved  ? 

Here  was  a  time  for  promptness  and  decision ! 
Had  he  been  nothing  but  our  baron,  then 
We  should  have  been  most  chary  of  our  lives ; 
But  he  was  our  confederate,  and  Bertha 
Honour'd  the  people.     So,  without  a  thought. 
We  risk'd  the  worst,  and  rush'd  into  the  flames. 
But  is  she  saved  ? 

She  is      Rudenz  and  I 
Bore  her  bet^veen  us  from  the  blazing  pile. 
With  crashing  timbers  toppling  all  around. 
And  wb$n  she  had  revived,  the  danger  past. 
And  raiseo  ner  eyes  to  meet  tiie  light  of  heaven. 


407 

SC.  I.]  WTLHELM   TEIX 

The  baron  fell  upon  my  breast ;  and  then 
A  silent  vow  of  friendship  pass  d  between  us— 
A  vow  that,  tcmper'd  in  yon  furnace  heat 
Will  last  through  ev'ry  shock  of  time  and  fate. 
FUKSX.   ^^^lere  is  the  Landenberg?    ^^^^^^  ^,^  ^^^^g. 

'^°'  No  fault  of  mine  it  was.  that  he.  who  quench'd 
My  fathers  eyesight,  should  go  hence  unharm d. 
He  fled— I  followed— overlook  and  seized  him. 
And  dragg-d  him  to  my  father's  feet.     The  sword 
Alreadv  quiver'd  o'er  the  caitiffs  head 
When 'at  the  entreaty  of  the  blind  old  man, 
I  spared  the  life  for  which  he  basely  prayd. 
He  swore  Urphede  * ,  never  to  return  : 
He'll  keep  his  oath,  for  he  has  felt  our  arm.  ^ 

FuRST    Thank  God,  our  victory's  unstain  d  by  blood  . 

CmLDBEN  {ncnninr,  across  the  stage  uith  fragments  oj  ^cood) 
Libertv  !  Liberty  !  Hurrah,  we  re  free  I 

FcRST     Oh !  what  a  jovous  scene  !  These  children  mil, 
E'en  to  their  latest  day,  remember  it. 

[Girls  bnng  in  the  cap  upon  a  pole.      The  uhols 
stage  is  filled  xnth  people. 

RuoDi.   Here  is  the  cap,  to  which  we  were  to  bow. 

Baom.  .  Command  us,  how  we  shall  dispose  of  it. 

FuRST    Heavens!  Twas  beneath  this  cap  my  grandson  stood  1 

Skverai.  Voices.  . 

Destroy  the  emblem  of  the  tyrant  s  power  ! 

Let  it  be  burnt  I  „    ,      ,  j  . 

P^j^g^  No.     Rather  be  preserved  ! 

Twas  once  the  instrument  of  despots— now 
Twill  be  a  lasting  symbol  of  our  freedom. 

[Feasants,  men,  uomen,  and  children,  some  stand. 
i7ig,  others  sitting  upon  the  beams  of  the  shat- 
tered scaffold,  all  picturesquely  grouped,  in   a 
large  semicircle. 
Melch.  Thus  now,  my  friends,  witli  light  and  merry  hearts, 

Z  depart,  and  neTerto  return  wuh  a  hostile  M.tentmn. 


408  WILHELM  TELL.  [aCT  V. 

We  stand  upon  the  wreck  of  tyranny ; 

And  gallantly  have  we  fulfill'd  the  oath, 

Which  we  at  Rootli  swore,  Confederates ! 
FuRST    The  work  is  but  hegun.     We  must  be  firm. 

For,  be  assured,  the  king  will  -nake  all  speed, 

To  avenge  his  Viceroy's  death,  and  reinstate, 

By  force  of  arms,  the  tyrant  we've  expell'd. 
Melch.  Why  let  him  come,  with  all  his  armaments! 

The  foe  \vithin  has  fled  before  our  arms  ; 

We'll  give  him  welcome  warmly  from  without ! 
RuoDi.   The  passes  to  the  country  are  but  few  ; 

And  these  we'll  boldly  cover  with  oui*  bodies. 
Badm.    We  are  bound  by  an  indissoluble  league. 

And  all  his  armies  shall  not  make  us  quail. 

[Enter  Kosselmann  and  Stadffachkr. 
RossELMANN  [speaking  as  he  enters). 

These  are  the  awful  judgments  of  the  Lord ! 
Peas.  .  What  is  the  matter? 

RossELMANN.  lu  what  times  we  live ! 

FuRST.    Say  on,  what  is't?    Ha,  Werner,  is  it  you? 

What  tidings  ? 
Peasant.  What's  the  matter  ? 

l^ssELMANN.  Hear  and  wonder ' 

Stauff.  We  are  released  from  one  great  cause  of  dread. 
RossEL.  The  Emperor  is  murdered. 
FuRST.  Gracious  Heaven ! 

[Peasants  rise  up  and  throng  round  Stauffacheb 
All.       Murder'd  the  Erap'ror?  What!  The  Emp'ror  !  Hear! 
Melch.  Impossible!  How  came  you  by  the  news? 
Stauff.  'Tis  true!  Near  Bruck,  by  the  assassin's  hand. 

King  Albert  fell.     A  most  trustworthy  man. 

John  Miiller,  from  Schaffhausen,  brought  the  news. 
FuRST.    Who  dared  commit  so  horrible  a  deed  ? 
Stauff.  The  doer  makes  the  deed  more  dreadful  still ; 

It  was  his  nephew,  his  own  brother's  child, 

Duke  John  of  Austria,  who  struck  the  blow, 
Melch.  What  drove  him  to  so  dire  a  parricide  ? 
Stadff.  The  Emp'ror  kept  his  patrimony  back. 

Despite  his  urgent  importunities ; 


409 

BC.  I.]  WILHELM  TELL. 

T^as  said,  indeed,  he  never  meant  to  give  it. 
But  ^sith  a  mitre  to  appease  the  duk^; 
However  this  may  ^e,  the  duke^gave  ear  _ 
To  the  ill  counsel  of  his  friends  m  arms 
And  wi  h  the  noble  lords,  Von  Eschenbach 
Von  Tecerfeld,  Von  Wart  and  Palm  resolved, 
S'nce  his  demands  for  justice  -re  despis^d; 
With  his  o^vn  hands  to  take  revenge  at  least 
r.^x.    Buisav,  ho.  compass'd  ^^^  J- dreadfu  Ue  d  . 

W^  ^  irJ  of  high-born  gendemem 

The  assassins  forced  their  ^vay  ^nto  the  hoat, 
To  separate  the  Emperor  from  hi.  smte. 
His  hi-hness  landed,  and  ^vas  ndmg  on 
Icross^a  fresh  ploughed  field-^^here  once,  they  say. 
A  mi<^hty  citv  stood  in  Pagan  times— 
Wkl^Habsbiirg's  ancient  turrets  full  m  sight. 
Where  all  the  grandeur  of  his  line  bad  birth - 
When  Duke  John  plunged  a  dagger  -^is  throat. 
Palm  ran  him  thro'  the  body  ^th  his   ance. 
Eschenbach  cleft  his  skull  at  one  fell  blow 
\TL-n  he  sank,  all  weltering  m  his  blood. 
On  ht  own  soil,  by  his  o.ni  kinsmen  sl^n 
Those  on  the  opposite  bank,  ^^o  saw  the^eed. 
Bein-  parted  by  the  stream,  could  only  raise 
An  i^iavailing  cry  of  loud  lament 
But  a  poor  woman,  sitting  by  the  way. 
Raised  him,  and  on  her  breast  he  bkd  to  death. 
MKLCH.  Thus  has  he  dug  his  o^nti  untimel.  grave. 
Who  sought  insatiably  to  grasp  at  all. 

SX.U...  Th^c^untry  round  is  ^^^^y^^^^l^^ 
The  mountain  passes  are  blockaded  all. 
And  seminels  on  ev'r>'  frontier  set; 
E-en  ancient  Zurich  barricades  her  gates. 
That  for  these  thirty  years  have  open  stood. 
Dreadincr  the  murd'rers.  and  th'  avengers  more. 
For  cruel  Agnes  comes,  the  Hungarian  queeu, 


410 


WILHELM  TELL.  [aCT  V. 


To  all  her  sex's  tenderness  a  stranger, 

Arm'd  with  the  thunders  of  the  church,  to  wreak 

Dire  vengeance  for  her  parent's  royal  blood, 

On  the  whole  race  of  those  that  murder "d  him, — 

Upon  their  servants,  children,  children's  children.— 

Nay,  on  the  stones  that  build  their  castle  walls. 

Deep  has  she  swoni  a  vow  to  immolate 

Whole  generations  on  her  father's  tomb. 

And  bathe  in  blood  as  in  the  dew  of  May 

Melch   Know  you  which  way  the  murderers  have  fled  ? 

Stauff.  No  sooner  had  they  done  the  deed,  than  they 
Took  flight,  each  following  a  different  route,' 
And  parted,  ne'er  to  see  each  other  more. 
Duke  John  must  still  be  wand'ring  in  the  mountains 

FuRST.    And  thus  their  crime  has  yielded  them  no  fruits 
Revenge  is  barren.      Of  itself  it  makes 
The  dreadful  food  it  feeds  on ;  its  delight 
Is  murder — its  satiety  despair. 

Staoff.  The  assassins  reap  no  profit  by  their  crime ; 
But  we  shall  pluck  with  unpolluted  hands 
The  teeming  fruits  of  their  most  bloody  deed. 
For  we  are  ransomed  from  our  heaviest  fear ; 
The  direst  foe  of  liberty  has  fallen. 
And,  'tis  reported,  that  the  crown  will  pass 
From  Habsburg's  house  into  another  line  ; 
The  Empire  is  determined  to  assert 
Its  old  prerogative  of  choice,  I  hear 

Fdrst  a7id  several  others. 

Has  any  one  been  named  to  you  ? 

Stadffacher.  The  Count 

Of  Luxembourg  is  widely  named  already. — 

FuRST.    'Tis  well  we  stood  so  staunchly  by  the  Empire ! 
Now  we  may  hope  for  justice,  and  with  cause 

Stauff.  The  Emperor  will  need  some  valiant  friends. 

And  he  will  shelter  us  from  Austria's  vengeance. 
[The  peasantry  embrace.     Enter  Sacrist  with 
perial  messenger. 

Sacris.  Here  are  the  worthy  chiefs  of  Switzerland ! 

RossELMANN  and  several  others. 
Sacrist,  what  news  ? 


gC.  I.]  WILHELM    TELL.  411 

Sacristan.  A  courier  brings  this  leUer. 

All  {to  Walter  Fubst). 
Open  and  read  it. 

Fubst  (reading).  "  To  the  ^rorthy  men 

Of  Uri,  Schwytz,  and  Unterwald,  the  Queen 
Elizabeth  sends  grace  and  all  good  mshes  1 

Many  voices.  .„        •      •    j 

TVTiat  'wants  the  queen  with  us?  Her  reign  is  done. 

Fubst  (reads).  , 

"  In  the  great  grief  and  doleful  widowhood, 
In  which  the  bloody  exit  of  her  lord 
Has  plunged  her  majesty,  she  still  remembers 
The  ancient  faith  and  love  of  S\ntaeriand 

Melch.  She  ne'er  did  that,  in  her  prosperity. 

Rossel.  Hush,  let  us  hear !  „  j 

Fdbst  heads).  "  And  she  is  well  assured. 

Her  people  mil  in  due  abhorrence  hold 
The  perpetrators  of  this  damned  deed. 
On  the  three  Cantons,  therefore,  she  rehes. 
That  they  in  nowise  lend  the  murderers  aid  ; 
But  rather,  that  they  loyally  assist. 
To  give  them  up  to  the  avenger's  hand, 
Remembering  the  love  and  grace  which  they     ^^ 
Of  old  received  from  Rudolph's  princely  house. 

[Symptoms  of  dissatisfaction  among  the  peasantry 

^klANT  VOICES. 

The  love  and  grace ! 
Stauff  Grace  from  the  father  we,  indeed,  received, 
But  what  have  we  to  boast  of  from  the  son  ? 
Did  he  confirm  the  charter  of  our  freedom. 
As  all  preceding  emperors  had  done  ? 
Did  he  judge  righteous  judgment,  or  afford 
Shelter,  or  stay,  to  innocence  oppress'd  ? 
Nay,  did  he  e'en  give  audience  to  the  envoys 
We  sent,  to  lay  our  grievances  before  him  ? 
Not  one  of  all  these  things  e'er  did  the  king. 
And  had  we  not  ourselves  achieved  our  rights 
By  resolute  valour,  our  necessities  _     ^ 

Had  never  touch'd  him.     Gratitude  to  him  . 
"Within  these  vales  he  sowed  not  gratitude 
He  stood  upon  an  eminence — he  might 


412  WILHELM   TELL.  [AtT   V. 

Have  been  a  very  father  to  his  people, 
But  all  his  aim  and  pleasure  was  to  raise 
Himself  and  his  own  house  :  and  now  may  those 
Whom  he  has  aggrandized,  lament  for  him ! 

Fdrst    We  will  not  triumph  in  his  fall,  nor  now 

Recall  to  mind  the  wrongs  we  have  endured. 
Far  be't  from  us  !  Yet,  that  we  should  avenge 
The  sovereign's  death,  who  never  did  us  good, 
And  hunt  down  those  who  ne'er  molested  us, 
Becomes  us  not,  nor  is  our  duty.     Love 
Must  bring  its  offerings  free,  and  unconstrain'd; 
From  all  enforced  duties  death  absolves  — 
And  unto  him  we  are  no  longer  bound. 

Melch.  And  if  the  queen  laments  within  her  bower, 
Accusing  Heaven  in  sorrow's  wild  despair ; 
Here  see  a  people,  from  its  anguish  freed, 
To  that  same  Heav'n  send  up  its  thankful  praise. 
For  who  would  reap  regrets,  must  sow  affection. 

[Exit  the  Imperial  Courier 

Stadffacher  [to  the  people). 

But  where  is  Tell  ?  Shall  he,  our  freedom's  founder, 

Alone  be  absent  from  our  festival  ? 

He  did  the  most — endured  the  worst  of  all. 

Come — to  his  dwelling  let  us  all  repair. 

And  bid  the  Saviour  of  our  country  hail ! 

[Exeunt  omnes 

Scene  II 

Interior  of  Tell's  cottage.     A  fire  hurnincf  on  the  Jiearth 
The  open  door  shoics  the  scene  outside. 

Hedwig,  Walter,  and  Wilhelm. 

Hedw.   Boys,  dearest  boys !  j'our  father  comes  to-day 
He  lives,  is  free,  and  we,  and  all  are  free ! 
The  country  owes  its  liberty  to  him ! 

Walt.    And  I,  too,  mother,  bore  my  part  in  it; 

I  shall  be  named  with  him.     My  father's  shaft 
Went  closely  by  my  life,  but  yet  I  shook  not:' 

Hed\vio  iemhracing  him). 

Yes,  yes,  thou  art  restored  to  me  again  I 


80  11.] 


•WILHELM  TELL. 


413 


WiLH 


Txvice  have  I  given  thee  birth,-t^vice  suffer'd  all 

A  mother's  agonies  for  thee,  my  child  • 

BuT  t      is  past-1  have  you  both  boys  both ! 

W  your  dear  father  will  be  back  to-day. 

Ana  your  u  ^^  ^^^^^  appears  at  the  door 

See,  mother,  yonder  stands  a  holy  friar  ; 
He's  asking  alms,  no  doubt.      ^^  ^^^^  ^.^  .^^^ 

^^"^"That  we  may  give  him  cheer,  and  make  him  feel 

T,at  he  ^^^^:^:^:Z^II^  ...  a  ..p 

^^^^"^Lt,Tood  man.     Mother  will  give  you  food! 
Walt.    C  me  in  and  rest,  then  go/efreshd  away 
^^liglancing  round  in  terror,  u-Uh  unquiet  looks). 
^°"    ^Vere  am  I?  In  what  country?     ^^^^^^^^^^ 

"^^"^^our  way,  that  you  are  ignorant  of  this? 
You  are  at  Biirelen,  m  the  land  of  Un, 
lu't  at  the  entrance  of  the  Sheckenthal 

M^^^  ^\?eTu  ine  ?  Your  husband,  is  he  here  ? 

t  ^Jmently  expect  him.     But  what  ads  you? 

You  look  as  one  whose  soul  is  il   at  e^e. 

Whoe'er  you  be,  you  are  m  -nt_uU  that  ^^  ^^ 

Howe'er  my  sinking  heart  may  yearn  for  food, 
Twill  taste  nothing  till  you've  fotn-^^^- ^p 
Touch  not  mv  dress,  nor  yet  advance  one  step. 
^Cd  off  I  say  if  you  would  have  me  hear  you. 
Stand  otl,_i  f )' 1  ,^  ,   .  ,  .  u^,„uable  blaze, 


Hedw. 


Monk. 

Heuw. 

Monk. 


Hedw. 


Monk. 
Hedw. 


ad  off,  I  say,  it  you  woiuu  uav^^^  "-- . 
Oh  by  this  hearth's  bright  hospitable  blaze 
g?Vlr  dear  children's  heads,  ^vh.h J^— ^^^ 

^tnnd  back  I  say  I  What  is  your  purpose,  man" 
IS  from  my  boys!  You  are  no  monk  -no,  no 
1  neathThatUl  content  and  peace  should  dwell. 
But  neither  lives  within  that  face  of  thine 
I  am  the  veriest  wretch  that  breathes  on  earth 
The  heart  is  never  deaf  to  wretchedness  , 
But  thy  look  freezes  up  my  inmost  soul 


414  WILHELM  TELL.  [ACT  V. 

"Walier  (spnngs  up). 

Mother,  my  father ! 
Hedwio.  Oh,  my  God  ! 

[Is  about  to  follow,  trembles  and  stops 
WiLHELM  {runnvng  after  his  brother).  My  father ! 

Walter  (without).     Thou'rt  here  once  more  ! 
\ViLHELM  [ivithout).  My  father,  my  dear  father  i 

Tell  [ivithout). 

Yes,  here  I  am  once  more  !    Where  is  your  mother? 

[They  enter 
Walt.    There  at  the  door  she  stands,  and  can  no  further, 

She  trembles  so  with  terror  and  with  joy. 
Tell      Oh  Hedwig,  Hedwig,  mother  of  my  children ! 

God  has  been  kind  and  helpful  in  our  woes. 

No  tyrant's  hand  shall  e'er  divide  us  more. 
Hedwig  {falling  on  his  neck). 

Oh,  Tell,  what  have  I  suflfer'd  for  thy  sake  ! 

[Monk  becomes  attentive 
Tell.      Forget  it  now,  and  live  for  joy  alone  ! 

I'm  here  again  with  you  !  This  is  my  cot ! 

I  stand  again  on  mine  own  hearth ! 
WiLHELM.  But,  father. 

Where  is  your  crossbow  left  ?     I  see  it  not 
Tell.      Nor  shalt  thou  ever  see  it  more,  my  boy. 

It  is  suspended  in  a  holy  place. 

And  in  the  chase  shall  ne'er  be  used  again 
Hri)W.   Oh,  Tell!  Tell  I 

[Steps  back,  dropping  his  hand 
Tell.  What  alarms  thee,  dearest  wife  ? 

Hkdw.    How — how  dost  thou  return  to  me  ?     This  hand — 

Dare  I  take  hold  of  it?    This  hand— Oh  God ! 
Tell  {with  firmness  and  animation). 

Has  shielded  you  and  set  my  country  free ; 

Freely  J  raise  it  in  the  face  of  Heaven. 

[Monk  gives  a  sudden  start — he  looks  at  him 

Who  is  this  friar  here  ? 
Hedwig.  Ah,  I  forgot  him 

Speak  thou  with  him  ;  I  shudder  at  his  presence 
Monk  {stepping  nearer). 

Are  you  that  Tell  that  slew  the  governor? 


415 

gp    jj-l  WILHELM  TELL. 

Try  T       Yes  I  am  he.     I  Wde  the  fact  from  no  man. 
Mo"k     You  are  that  Tell!     Ah!  it  is  Gods  ow.  hand 

That  hath  conducted  me  beneath  your  root. 
Tell  (examining  him  closely). 

You  are  no  monk.    AVho  are  you? 

You  have  sla^n 
Monk  ,      ,.,  ^     t  tnn 

The  fTovemor,  who  did  you  wrong.     1,  too. 
Have" slain  a  foe,  who  late  denied  me  jusUce. 
He  was  no  less  your  enemy  than  mine. 
I've  rid  the  land  of  him. 
, ,       •      I,     i\  Thou  art — oh.  horror ' 

Tell  (drau-mgr  fcac/c).  .   -^".°|^  ""V       ^^a 

^    In—children,  children-iu  without  a  word 

Go,  my  dear  wife  !  Go  !  Go'.  Unhappy  man, 

Thou  shouldst  be . 

„         „  Heav  ns,  wno  is  it  f 

Hedwic.  -^^  Do  not  ask 

'^^^^'     Away'  away!  the  children  must  not  hear  it. 

Out  of  the  house-away  !     Thou  must  not  rest 
'Neath  the  same  roof  with  this  unhappy  man 

^   Of  Austria -I  know  it.     Thou  hast  slain 
The  Emperor,  thy  uncle,  and  hege  lord 
John      He  robVd  me  of  my  patrimony. 
;' ""-^  How ! 

"''''■     Slain  him-thy  king,  thy  uncle  !    And  the  earth 

Still  bears  thee  !    And  the  sun  still  shmes  on  thee 

ToHv      Tell,  hear  me,  ere  you , 

JOHN.      xeu,  u  Reeking  with  the  blood 

^'^^'      Of  him  that  was  thy  Emperor,  and  kinsman,  ^ 
Durst  thou  set  foot  within  my  spotless  house . 
Show  thy  fell  visage  to  a  virtuous  man. 
And  claim  the  rites  of  hospitality  ? 

John       I  hoped  to  find  compassion  at  youx  hands. 
You  also  took  revenge  upon  your  ice . 

Tell      Unhappy  man !  And  dar'st  thou  thus  confound        . 
Ambition's  bloody  crime,  with  the  dread  act 
To  which  a  fathers  direful  need  impelld  him  ?     ^ 
Hadst  thou  to  shield  thy  children  s  darling  heads 
To  guard  thy  fireside's  sanctuary— ward  ott 
The  last,  worst  doom  from  all  that  thou  didst  love? 


416  WILHELM   TELL.  [aCT  V. 

To  Heaven  I  raise  my  unpolluted  hands, 

To  curse  thine  act  and  thee  !     I  have  avenged 

That  holy  nature  which  thou  hast  profaned. 

1  have  no  part  with  thee.     Thou  art  a  murderer  ; 

I've  shielded  all  that  was  most  dear  to  me. 

John.      You  cast  me  off  to  comfortless  despair  ! 

Tell      My  blood  runs  cold  ev'n  while  I  talk  with  thee. 
Away !  Pursue  thine  awful  course !  Nor  longer 
Pollute  the  cot  where  innocence  abides ! 

[John  turns  to  depart 

John      I  cannot  live,  and  will  no  longer  thus ! 

Tell      And  yet  my  soul  bleeds  for  thee — gracious  Heaven ' 
So  young,  of  such  a  noble  line,  the  grandson 
Of  Piudolph,  once  my  lord  and  emperor, 
An  outcast — murderer — standing  at  my  door, 
The  poor  man's  door — a  suppliant,  in  despair! 

[Covers  his  fact 

John.      If  thou  hast  power  to  weep,  oh  let  my  fate 
Move  your  compassion — it  is  horrible. 
I  am — say,  rather  was — a  prince.     I  might 
Have  been  most  happy,  had  I  only  curb'd 
Th'  impatience  of  my  passionate  desires 
But  envy  gnaw'd  my  heart — I  saw  the  youth 
Of  mine  own  cousin  Leopold  endow'd 
With  honour,  and  enrich "d  with  broad  domains, 
The  while  myself,  that  was  in  years  his  equal, 
"Was  kept  in  abject  and  disgraceful  nonage. 

Tell.      Unhappy  man,  thy  uncle  knew  thee  well, 

When  he  withheld  both  land  and  subjects  from  thee 

Thou,  by  thy  mad  and  desperate  act  hast  set 

A  fearful  seal  upon  his  sage  resolve. 

Where  are  the  bloody  partners  of  thy  crime? 

John       Where'er  the  demon  of  revenge  has  borne  them ; 
I  have  not  seen  them  since  the  luckless  deed. 

Teix      Know'st  thou  the  Empire's  ban  is  out, — that  thou 
Art  interdicted  to  thy  friends,  and  given 
An  outlaw 'd  victim  to  thine  enemies  ! 

John       Therefore  I  shun  all  public  thoroughfares, 
And  venture  not  to  knock  at  any  door — 
I  turn  my  footsteps  to  the  wilds,  and  through 
The  mountains  roam,  a  terror  to  myself 


80.  II.] 


WILHELM   TELL. 


417 


From  mine  own  self  1  slirink  with  horror  hack, 
Should  a  chance  brook  reflect  my  ill-3tarr'd  form 

If  thou  hast  pity  for  a  fellow  mortal 

[Falh  down  before  him. 

Tell       Stand  up,  stand  up  ! 

John.  Not  till  thou  shalt  extend 

Thy  hand  in  promise  of  assistance  to  me. 

TsLL.     Can  I  assist  thee  ?     Can  a  sinful  man  ? 

Yet  get  thee  up — ^how  black  soe'er  thy  crime, — 
Thou  art  a  man.     I,  too,  am  one.     From  Tell 
Shall  no  one  part  uncomforted.     I  will 
Do  all  that  lies  within  my  power. 

Duke  John  {springs  up  and  grasps  him  ardently  by  the  hand^ 

Oh,  Tell, 
You  save  me  from  the  terrors  of  despair. 

Teix.      Let  go  my  hand  !  Thou  must  away.    Thou  caiist  not 
Remain  here  undiscover'd,  and  discover'd. 
Thou  canst  not  count  on  succour.    Which  way,  then. 
Wilt  bend  thy  steps  ?   Where  dost  thou  hope  to  liud 
A  place  of  rest  ? 

Duke  John.  Alas  !  alas  !  I  know  not. 

Tell.      Hear,  then,  what  Heaven  suggesteth  to  my  heart. 
Thou  must  to  Italy,— to  Saint  Peter's  City — 
There  cast  thyself  at  the  Pope's  feet,— confess 
Thy  guilt  to  him,  and  ease  thy  laden  soul ! 

John      But  will  he  not  surrender  me  to  vengeance? 

Tell      Whate'er  he  does,  receive  as  God's  decree. 

John       But  how  am  I  to  reach  that  unknowii  land  ? 

I  have  no  knowledge  of  the  way,  and  dare  not 
Attach  myself  to  other  travellers. 

Teu,.      I  will  describe  the  road,  and  mark  me  well  I 
You  must  ascend,  keeping  along  the  Reuss, 
WHiich  from  the  mountains  dashes  wildly  down 

Duke  John  {in  alarm). 

What !  See  the  Reuss  ?    The  witness  of  my  deed  ! 

Tell.     The  road  you  take  lies  through  the  river's  gorge, 
And  many  a  cross  proclaims  where  travellers 
Have  perish'd  'neath  the  avalanche's  fall- 

John       T  have  no  fear  for  nature's  terrors,  so 
I  can  appease  the  torments  of  my  soul. 

Tell      At  every  cross,  kneel  down  and  expiate 


418  Wll.HELM   TKIX  [ACT  V. 

Your  crime  with  burning  penitential  tears — 
And  if  you  'scape  the  perils  of  the  pass, 
And  are  not  whelm'd  beneath  the  drifted  snows. 
That  from  the  frozen  peaks  come  sweeping  down, 
You'll  reach  the  bridge,  that  hangs  in  drizzlmg  spraji 
Then  if  it  yield  not  'neath  your  heavy  guilt, 
When  you  have  left  it  safely  in  your  rear, 
Before  you  frowns  the  gloomy  G  ate  of  Rocks, 
Where  never  sun  did  shine      Proceed  through  this 
And  you  will  reach  a  bright  and  gladsome  vale. 
Yet  must  you  huriy  on  with  hasty  steps, 
For  in  the  haunts  of  peace  you  must  not  linger 

John      0  Rudolph,  Rudolph,  royal  grandsire  !  thus 

Thy  grandson  first  sets  foot  within  thy  realms  ! 

Tell      Ascending  still,  you  gain  the  Gotthardt's  heights 
On  which  the  everlasting  lakes  repose, 
That  from  the  streams  of  Heaven  itself  are  fed. 
There  to  the  German  soil  you  bid  farewell; 
And  thence,  with  rapid  course,  another  stream 
Leads  you  to  Italy,  your  promised  land. 

[Ranz  des  Vaches  sounded  on  Alp-horns  is  heard 
without 
But  I  hear  voices  !    Hence  ! 

Hedwio  {hurrying  in)  Where  art  thou.  Tell? 

Our  father  comes,  and  in  exultmg  bands 
All  the  confederates  approach. 

Duke  John  {covering  himself).  Woe's  me ! 

I  dare  not  tarry  'mid  this  happiness  ! 

Tell      Go,  dearest  wife,  and  give  this  man  to  eat. 

Spare  not  your  bounty.     For  his  road  is  long, 
And  one  where  shelter  will  be  hard  to  find 
Quick !  they  approach. 

Hedwtg.  Who  is  he? 

Tell.  ^^  ^'^^  '^^ 

And  when  he  quits  thee,  turn  thine  eyes  away, 
Tliat  they  may  not  behold  the  road  he  takes^ 

[Duke  John  advances  hastily  towards  Tell,  hut 
he  beckons  him  aside  and  exit.  When  both 
have  left  the  stage,  the  scene  changes,  and  dis- 
closes in 


so.  m.] 


WILHELM   TELL. 


419 


Scene  III. 
ne  whole  valley  before  Tell's  house,  the  heights  which  enclose 
it  occvpied  bij  peasants,  grouped  into  tableaux.  Some  are 
seen  crossing  a  lofty  bridge,  ivhich  crosses  tlie  Shechen. 
Waltee  Furst  idth  the  tico  boys.  Werner  and  Stauf 
FACHER  come  fonoard.  Others  throng  after  them.  When 
Tkll  appears,  all  receive  him  with  loud  cheers. 
All.       Long  live  brave  Tell,  our  shield,  oui-  liberator. 

[While  those  in  front  are  crowding  round  Tkll, 
and  embracing  him,  Eudenz  and  Bertha  ap 
pear.     The  former  salutes   the  peasantry,  tlie 
latter  embraces  Hedwig.     The  music  from  the 
mountains    continues    to   play.     When  it  has 
stopped.  Bertha  steps  into  the  centre  of  tlie 
crou'd. 
Berth    Peasants !  Confederates  !  Into  youi'  league 
Receive  me  here,  that  happily  am  the  first 
To  find  protection  in  the  land  of  freedoni. 
To  your  brave  hands  I  now  entrust  my  rights. 
Will  you  protect  me  as  your  citizen  ? 
Peas.      Ay,  that  we  will,  with  life  and  fortune  both  ! 
Berth.  'Tis  well !  And  to  this  youth  I  give  my  hand. 

A  free  Swiss  maiden  to  a  free  Swiss  man ! 
EuD.      And  from  this  moment  all  my  serfs  are  free ! 

[Music  and  the  curtain  foU* 


THE  END. 


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With  Critical  and  Biographical  Introduc- 
tion and  Notes  by  J.  Devey,  M.A.  Por- 
trait. 

—  See  also  Philosophical  Library. 

BALLADS  AND  SONGS  of  the  Pea- 
santry of  England,  from  Oral  Recitation, 
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BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 
Selections.  With  Notes  and  Introduction 
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BBCKMANN  (J.)  History  of  toven- 

tions,  Discoveries,  and  Origins.  Wiih 
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2  vols. 

BELL  (Robert).— 5«  Ballads,  Chaucer, 
Green. 

BOSWELL'S  Life  of  Johnson,  with 
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Edit,   by   S.   Wilkin,  with  Dr.  Johnson  s 
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BURKE'S  Works.    6  vols. 

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Life.     By  Sir  J.  Prior.     Portrait. 

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Lockhart,  D.C.L.  A  new  and  enlarged 
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CAMDEN'S    Lusiad,  or  the  Discovery 
of  India.     An  Epic   Poem.     Trans,   from 
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torical Sketch,  and  Life,  by  W.  J.  Mickle. 
5th  edition. 
CARAFAS     (The)      of     Maddalonl. 
Naples  under  Spanish  Dominion.     Trans, 
from  the  German  of  Alfred  de  Reumont. 
Portrait  of  Massaniello. 
CARREL.    The  Connter-Revolntlon 
in   England  for  the   Re-establishment  of 
Popery  under  Charles  II.  and  James  II., 
by  Armand  Carrel ;  with  Fox's  History  of 

James  II.  and  Lord  Lonsdale's  Memoir  of 
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OARRUTHERS.  —  5«  Pope,  in  lOta- 
trated  Library. 

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gical View  of  his  Age,  Notes,  and  Index 
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HUGO'S  (Victor)  Dramatic  -Worka; 

Hernani-RuyBlas—TheK.ing's  Diversion. 
Translated  by  Mrs.  Newton  Crosland  and 
F.  L.  Slous, 

Poema,  chiefly  Lyrical.     Collected  by 

H.  L.  Williams. 

HUKGAKY:   ita  Hlatory  and  Revo- 
lution, with  Memoir  of  Kossuth.    Portrait. 

HUTCHINSON    (Colonel).    Memolra 

.  of.     By    his  Widow,    with    her   Autobio- 

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Portrait. 

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JAMES'S  (G.  P.  R.)  Life  of  Richard 

Cceur  de  Lion.  Portraits  of  Richard  and 
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Louis  XIV.    Portraits.     2  vols. 

JAMESON    (Mrs.)      Shakespeare's 

Heroines.  Characteristics  of  Women.  By 
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JEAN  PAUL See  Richter. 

JOHNSON'S    Lives    of    the    Poets. 

Edited,  with  Notes,  by  Mrs.  Alexander 
Napier,  .^nd  an  Introduction  by  Pro- 
fessor J.  W.  Hales,  M.A.     3  vols. 

JONSON  (Ben).  Vq^vosoU— See  Greene. 

JOSEPHUS  (Flavius),  The  "Worka  of. 
Whiston's  Translation.  Revised  by  Rev. 
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LA  FONTAINE'S  Fables.  In  English 
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Elizur  Wright. 

LAMARTINES   The    Girondists,  or 

Personal  Memoirs  of  the  Patriots  01  the 
French  Revolution.  Trans,  by  H.  T. 
Ryde.  Portraits  of  Robespierre,  Madame 
Roland,  and  Charlotte  Corday.     3  vols. 

The    Restoration    of  Monarchy 

in  France  (a  Sequel  to  The  Girondists). 
5  PortraiLs.     4  vols. 

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Portraits. 

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LAMB'S     (Charles)     Specimens     of 

English  Dramatic  Poets  of  the  time  of 
Elizabeth.  With  Notes  and  the  Extracts 
from  the  Garnck  Plays. 

Talfonrd's   Letters  of  Charles 

Lamb.  New  Edition,  by  W.  Carew 
Hazlitt.    2  vols. 

LANZI'S   History   of  Painting   In 

Italy,  from  the  Period  of  the  Revival  of 
the  Fine  Arts  to  the  End  of  the  i8th 
Century.  With  Memoir  and  Portraits. 
Trans,  by  T.  Roscoe.     3  vols. 

LAPPENBERG'S  England  under  the 

Anglo-Saxon  Kings.  Trans,  by  B.Thorpe, 
F.S.A.     2  vols. 

LESSZNG'S  Dramatic  Works.  Com- 
plete. By  E.  Bell,  M.A.  With  Memoir 
by  H.  Zimmern.     Portrait.     2  vols. 

Laokoon,  Dramatic  Notes,  and 

Representation  of  Death  by  the  Ancients. 
Trans,  by  E.  C.  Beasley  and  Helen 
Zimmern.     Frontispiece. 

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taining  Human  Understanding, Controversy 
with  Bishop  of  Worcester,  Malebranche's 
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and  Notes,  by  J.  A.  St.  John.  Portrait. 
2  vols. 

Life  and  Letters,  with  Extracts  from 

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LOCEHART  (J.  Q>.)—See  Bums. 

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Hazlitt.  With  Life  by  A.  Chalmers,  and 
Luther's    Catechi&m.      Portrait    after 

Cranach. 

Autobiography.— 5^^  MicheUt. 

MACHIAVELLI'S  History  of  Flo- 
rence, The  Prince,  Savonarola,  Historical 
Tracts,  and  Memoir.     Portrait. 

MARLOWE.    Poems  of.— See  Greent. 

MARTINEAU'S     (Harriet)    History 

of  England  (including  History  of  the  Peace) 
from  1800-1846.     5  vols. 

MENZEL'S    History   of   Germany, 

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War.        Portraits.     3  vols. 

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Notes. 

The  French    Revolution   to   the 

Fhght  of  the  King  in  1791.     Frontispiece. 

MIGNET'S  The  French  Revolution, 

from  1789  to  1S14.     Portrait  of  Napoleon. 


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face,  Preliminary   Remarks  by  J.  A.  si. 

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Poetical  Works.    With  120  Wood    , 

Engravings.     2  vols. 
MIT  FORD'S    (M188)    Our   VlllagG. 

Sketches  of  Rural  Character  and  Scenery. 

2  Engravings.     2  vols. 

MOLIERE'S  Dramatic  .;^,f  ^^Vj^^^ 
English  Prose,  by  C.  H.  Wall.  With  a 
Life  and  a  Portrait.     3  vols. 

•  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  we  have 
here  probably  as  good  _a  translation  of 
Moliere  as  can  be  given.  -Academy. 

MONTAGU.  Letters  and  Works  of 
Ladv  islary  Wortley  Montagu.  Lord 
&icli^s  Third  Edition.  Edited  by 
W  Moy  Thomas.  New  and  reMsed 
edition.  With  steel  plates,  z  vols.  S^- 
each. 

MONTESQUIEU'S    Spirit   of  Laws- 
Revdsed  Edition,  with  D'Alembert's  Analy- 
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sis,  Notes,  and  Memoir. 
NEANDER  (Dr.  A.)  History  of  the 
Christian  Religion  and  Church.  Trans,  by 
J.  Torrey.  With  Short  Memoir.  10  vols. 
Life  of  Jesus  Christ,  in  its  His- 
torical Connexion  and  Development. 

The    Planting  and  Training  of 

the  Christian  Church  by  Uie  Apostles 
With  the  Antignosticus,  or  Spirit  of  ler- 
tuUian.    Trans,  by  J.  E.  Ryland.     2  vols. 

Lectures     on     the    History    of 

Christian  Dogmas.    Trans,  by  J.  E.  Ky- 
land.     2  vols.  ,  ,c    t^ 

Memorials  of  Christian  Life  in 

the  Early  and  Middle  Ages;  including 
Light  in  Dark  Places.  Trans,  by  J.  E. 
Ryland. 
NORTH'S  Lives  of  the  Right  Hon. 
Francis  North,  Baron  Guildford,  the  Hon. 
Sir  Dudley  North,  and  the  Hon.  and  Rev. 
Dr.  John  North.  By  the  Hon.  Roger 
North.  EditedbyA.Jessopp,DD.  With 
:!  Portraits.     3  vols.     y.  6rf.  each.  _  _ 

'  Lovers  of  good  literature  will  rejoice  at 
the  appearance  of  a  new,  handy,  and  com- 
plete edition  of  so  justly  famous  a  book 
and  will   congratulate  themselves  that  it 
has  found   so  competent  and    skilful    an 
editor  as  Dr.  Jessopp.'— 7"i/«<.\j. 
OCKLEY  (S.)    History  of  the  Sara- 
cens  and  their  Conquests  in  S>Tia,  Persia 
and    Egv^t.      Comprising    the    Lives    of 
Mohammed    and    his    Successors   to    the 
Death  of  Abdalmelik,  the  Eleventh  Cahph. 
By  Simon  Ockley,  B.D.,  Portrait  of  Mo- 
hammed. 
PASCAL'S  Thoughts.    Translated  from 
the    Te.xt    of    M.   Auguste    Molmier    by 
C.  Kegan  Paul.     3rd  edition. 


PERCY'S  Reliques  of  Ancient  Eng- 
lish Poetry,  consisting  of  Bal'.ads,  Songs 
and  other  Pieces  of  our  earlier  Poets,  with 
some  few  of  later  date.     With   Essay  on 
Ancient  Minstrels,  and  Glossarj-.    2  voU. 
PHILIP   DE  COMMINES.    Memob-fl 
of.     Containing  the  Histories  of  Louis  XI. 
^nrl  Charles  VIII.,  and  Charles  the  Bold, 
^uW^B^gundy.    With  the  History  of 
Louis  XL,   by  Jean  de  Troyes.     Tra^ 
lated,  with  a  L&e  and  Notes,  by  A.  R. 
Scoble.     Portraits.     2  vols. 
PLUTARCH'S  LIVES.  Translated  with 
Notes   and  Life,  >y   A-   Stew-art    MA 
late  Fellow  of  Trinity  CoUege,  Cambridge, 
and  G.  Long.  M.A.    4  vols. 
POETRY  OF  AIOERICA.    Selections 
;        from  One   Hundred  Poets,  from   1776  to 
1876.      With    Introductory    Review,    and 
Specimens  of  Negro    Mriody,  by  W.  J. 
Lmton.     Portrait  of  W.  Whitman. 

■    RACINE'S  (Jean)  Dramatic  Works. 

A  metrical  English  version,  with  Bio- 
^^hkal  notice:  By  R.  Bruce  Boswell, 
M.A.  Oxon.     2  vols. 


RANKE  (L.)    History  of  the  Popee, 

^ifchurch  and  State,  and  then:  Conflict 
»-ith  Protestantism  in  the  leth  and  lyts 
Centuries.  Trans,  by  E.  Foster.   Portraits. 

-L^mstory  of  Servla.    Trans,  by  Mrs. 

"iEe^To  which  is  added.  The  Slave  Pro- 
vinces of  Turkey,  by  C>-prien  Robert. 

History  of  the  Latin  and  Ten- 

tonic  Nations.  ^494-1514.  ^i>^a?s.  oy 
P  A.  Ashworth,  translator  of  Dr.  Oneist  s 
•Histor>-  of  the  English  Constitution. 

REUMONT  (Alfred  de).-^-.^  Cara/as. 

REYNOLDS' (Sir  ^■'^^^^^^''\'^^''^' 

With   Memoir    and  Remarks    by  H.   vv. 
Beechy.    2  vols. 
RICHTER   (Jean   Paul).  ^I-evana, 
a  Treatise  on  Education  ;  together  with  the 
Autobiography,  and  a  short  Memoir. 

!    Flower,  Fruit,  and  Thorn  Pieces, 

'        or  the  Wedded  Life.  Death,  and  Map'.age 
of  Siebenkaes.  Translated  by  Alex.Ewing. 
The  only  complete  English  translation. 

ROSCOE'S  (W.)  Life  of  Leo  Xy  with 

Notes,  Historical  Documents,  and  Disser. 

;        tation  on   Lucretia    Borgia.     3   PorUaits. 

-l.'^Lorenzo  de' Medici,  called  '  The 
Maenificent,'  with  Cop>-nght  Notes, 
P<^1^.  Letters.  &c.  With  Memoir  of 
Roscoe  and  Portrait  of  Lorenzo. 

RUSSIA,  History  of,  from  th» 
earliest  Period  to  the  Crimean  %\  ar.  By 
W.  K.  Kelly.    3  Portraits.    2  vols. 


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Vol.  II.— Historj'  of  the  Revolt  in  the 
Netherlands,  the  Trials  of  Counts  Egmont 
and  Horn,  the  Siege  of  Antwerp,  and  the 
Disturbance  of  France  preceding  the  Reign 
of  Henrj^  IV.  Translated  by  Rev.  A.  J.  W. 
Morrison  and  L.  Dora  Schniitz. 

Vol.  III.— Don  Carlos.  R.  D.  Eoylan 
—Mary  Stuart.  Mellish  —  Maid  of  Or- 
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Vol.  VII.  —  Wallenstein's  Camp.  J. 
Churchill.  —  Piccolomini  and  Death  of 
Waljenstein.  S.  T.  Coleridge. — William 
Tell.  Sir  Theodore  Martin,  K.C.B.,  LL.D. 

SCHILLER  and  GOETHE.  Corre- 
spondence between,  from  a.d.  1794-1S05. 
Trans,  by  L.  Dora  Schmitr.     2  vols. 

SCHLEGEL    (F.)      Lectures   on  the 

Philosophy  of  Life  and  the  Philosophy  of 

Language.     Trans,  by  .\.  J.  W.  Morrison. 
The  History  of  Literature,  Ancient 

and  Modem. 
The  Philosophy  of  History.  With 

Memoir  and  Portrait.     Trans,  by  J.    B. 

Robertson. 

—  Modern  History,  with  the  Lectures 
entitled  Cassar  and  Ale.xander,  and  The 
Beginning  of  our  History.  Translated  by 
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Beautiful,  and  on  the  Language  and  Wis- 
dom of  the  Indians.     By  E.  J.  Millington. 

8CHLEGEL   (A.  W.)   Dramatic  Art 

and  Literature.  By  J.  Black.  With  Me- 
moir by  Rev.  A.  J.  W.  Morrison.    Portrait. 

SCHUMANN  (Robert),  His  Life  and 
Works.  liy  A.  Reissmann.  Trans,  by 
A.  L.  Alger. 

Early  Letters.    Translated  by  May 

Herbert.     With  Preface  by  Sir  G.  Grove. 

SHAKESPEARE'S    Dramatic   Art. 

The  Historj'  and  Character  of  Shakspeare's 
Plays.  By  Dr.  H.  Ulrici.  Trans,  by  L. 
Doia  Schmitz.     2  vols. 


SHAKESPEARE    (William).      A 

Literary  Biography  by  Karl  Elze,  Ph.D., 
LL.D.  Translated  by  L.  Dora  Schinitz.  is. 

SHERIDAN'S  Dramatic  Works.  With 

Memoir.    Portniit  (after  Reynolds). 

SISMONDI'S  History  of  the  Litera- 

ture  of  the  South  of  Europe.  Trans,  by 
T.  Roscoe.     Portraits.     2  vols. 

SMITH'S  (Adam)  Theory  of  Moral 

Sentiments  ;  with  Essay  on  the  First  For- 
mation of  Languages,  and  Critical  Memoir 
byDugald  Stewart. 
See  Economic  Library. 

SMYTH'S   (Professor)  Lectures    on 

Modern  History ;  from  the  Irruption  of  the 
Northern  Nations  to  the  close  of  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution.    2  vols. 
— -  Lectures  on  the  French  Revolu- 
tion.    With  Index.     2  vols. 

SOUTHEY See    Cowper,     Wesley,    and 

{.Illustrated  Library)  Nelson. 

STURM'S    Morning    Communings 

with  God,  or  Devotional  Meditations  for 
Every  Day.  Trans,  by  W.  Johnstone,  M.A. 

SULLY.    Memoirq   of  the  Duke  of, 

Prime  Minister  to  Henry  the  Great.  With 
Notes  and  Historical  Introduction.  4  Por- 
traits.   4  vols. 

TAYLOR'S    (Bishop    Jeremy)    Holy 

Living  and  Dying,  with  Prayers,  contain- 
ing the  AVhole  Dutj'  of  a  Christian  and  the 
parts  of  Devotion  fitted  to  all  Occasions. 
Portrait. 
TEN  BRINK.— -S-ftf  Drink. 

THIERRY'S  Conquest  of  England  by 

the  Normans ;  its  Causes,  and  its  Conse- 
quences in  England  and  the  Continent. 
By  W.  Hazlitt.  With  short  Memoir.  2  Por- 
traits.     2  vols. 

ULRICI  iJir.^—See  Sliakespeare. 

VASARI.  Lives  of  the  most  Eminent 

Painters,  Sculptors,  and  Architects.  By 
Mrs.  J.  Foster,  with  selected  Notes.  Por- 
trait. 6  vols..  Vol.  VI.  being  an  additional 
Volume  of  Notes  by  Dr.  J.  P.  Richter. 

VOLTAIRE'S  Tales.  Translated  by 
R.  B.  Boswell.  Vol.  I.,  containing  '  Ba- 
bouc,'  Memnon,  Candide,  L'Ingenu,  and 
other  Tales. 

WERNER'S  Templars  in  Cyprus. 
Trans,  by  E.  A.  M.  Lewis. 

WESLEY,  the  Life  of,  and  the  Rise 

and  Progress  of  Methodism.  By  Robert 
Southey.     Portrait.     s.r. 

WHEATLEY.  A  Rational  Illustra- 
tion of  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer. 

YOUNG  (Arthur)  Ti-avels  in  France. 

Edited  by  Miss  Betham  Edwards.  With 
a  Portrait. 


HISTORICAL  AND  PHILOSOPHICAL  LIBRARIES. 


HISTORICAL    LIBRARY. 

22  Volumes  at  ^s.  each.     (5?.  I05.  per  set.) 


EVELYN'S  Diary  and  Correspond- 

dence,  with  the  Private  Correspondence  of 
Charles  I.  and  Sir  Edward  Nicholas,  and 
between  Sir  Edward  Hyde  (Earl  of  Claren- 
don) and  Sir  Richard  Browne.  Edited  from 
the  Original  MSS.  by  W.  Bray,  F.A.S. 
4  vols.  45  Engravings  (after  Vandyke, 
Lely,  Kneller,  and  Jamieson,  &c.). 

N.B.— This  edition  contains  130  letters 
from  Evelyn  and  his  wife,  printed  by  per- 
mission, and  contained  in  no  other  edition. 

PEPYS'  Diary  and  Correspondence. 

With  Life  and  Notes,  by  Lord  Braybrooke. 
With  Appendix  containing  additional 
Letters  and  Index.  4  vols.,  with  31  En- 
gravings (after  Vandyke,  Sir  P.  Lely, 
Holbein,  Kneller,  &c.). 

N.B.— This  is  a  reprint  of  Lord  Bray- 
brooke's  fourth  and  last  edition,  containing 
all  his  latest  notes  and  corrections,  the 
copyright  of  the  publishers. 


JESSE'S   Memoirs   of  the  Court  of 

England  under  the  Stuarts,  including  the 
Protectorate.  3  vols.  With  Index  and  42 
Portraits  (after  Vandyke,  Lely,  &c.). 

Memoirs  of  the  Pretenders  and 

their  Adherents.    6  Portraits. 

NU GENT'S    (Lord)    Memorials    of 

Hampden,  his  Party  and  Times.  With 
Memoir.  12  Portraits  (after  Vandyke 
and  others). 

STRICKLAND'S  (Agnes)  Lives  of  the 
Queens  of  England  from  the  Norman 
Conquest.  From  authentic  Documents, 
public  and  private.     6  Portraits.     6  vols. 

Life  of  Mary  Queen   of  Scots. 

2  Portraits.     2  vols. 

Lives  of  the  Tudor  and  Stuart 

Princesses.     With  2  Portraits. 


PHILOSOPHICAL   LIBRARY. 

17  Vols,  at  5^.  each,  excepting  those  marked  other-Mst.     {3/.  I9^-  t^r  set:) 


BACON'S  Novum  Organum  and  Ad- 
vancement of  Learning.     With  Notes  by 
J.  Devey,  M.A. 
BAX.    A  Handbook  of  the  History 
of  Philosophy,  for   the   use  of  Students. 
By  E.    Belfort    Bax,    Editor    of    Kant  s 
'  Prolegomena.' 
COBITE'S  PhUosophy  of  the  Sciences. 
An  Exposition  of  the   Principles    of   the 
Co7crs  dc  Philosophie  Positive.     By  O.^H. 
Lewes,  Author  of  '  The  Life  of  Goethe. 
DRAPER  (Dr.  J.  W.)    A  History  of 
the    Intellectual   Development  of  Europe. 
2  vols. 
HEGEL'S  Philosophy  Of  History.   By 

J.  Sibree,  M.A. 
KANT'S   Critique   of  Pure  Reason. 
By  J.  M.  D.  Meiklejohn. 

Prolegomena  and  Metaphysical 

Foundations  of  Natural  Science,  with  Bio- 
graphy  and  Memoir  by  E.  Belfort  Bax. 
Portrait. 


LOGIC,  or  the  Science  of  Inference. 

A  Popular  Manual.     By  J.  Devey. 

MILLER  (Professor).    History  Phllo- 

sophically  Illustrated,  from  the  Fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire  to  the  French  Revolution. 
With  Memoir.     4  vols.     3s.  6d.  each. 

SCHOPENHAUER  on  the  Fourfold 

Root  of  the  Principle  of  Sufficient  Reason, 
and  on  the  Will  in  Nature.  Trans,  from 
the  German. 

Essays.     Selected  and  Translated  by 

E.  Belfort  Bax. 

SPINOZA'S  Chief  WorSs.  Trans,  with 
Introduction  by  R.  H.  M.  Elwes.    2  vols. 

Vol.  I.— Tractatus  Theologico-Politicus 
—Political  Treatise. 

Vol.  II.— Improvement  of  the  Under- 
standing— Ethics— Letters. 


BOHN'S  LIBRARIES. 


THEOLOGICAL    LIBRARY. 

IS  Vols,  at  SJ.  each  (^except  Chilling'.vorth,  y.  (id.).     (3/.  13J.  6d.  per  set.) 


BLEEK.     Introduction   to    the    Old 

Testament.  By  Friedrich  Bleek.  Trans, 
under  the  supervision  of  Rev.  E.  Venables, 
Residentiary  Canon  of  Lincoln.     2   vols. 

CHILLINGWORTH'S    Religion    of 

Protestants.     3^.  6d. 

EUSEBinS.  Ecclesiastical  History 
of  Eusebius  Pamphilus,  Bishop  of  Caesarea, 
Trans,  by  Rev.  C.  F.  Cruse,  M.A.  With 
Notes,  Life,  and  Chronological  Tables. 

EVAGRIUS.    History  of  the  Church. 

— See  Tlieodoret. 

HARDWICK.  History  of  the  Articles 

of  Religion  ;  to  which  is  added  a  Series  of 
Documents  from  a.d.  1536  to  a.d.  1615. 
Ed.  by  Rev.  F.  Proctor. 

HENRY'S  (Matthew)  Exposition  of 

the  Book  of  Psalms.    N  umerous  Woodcuts. 

PEARSON  (John,  D.D.)    Exposition 

of  the  Creed.  Edit,  by  E.  Walford,  M.A. 
With  Notes,  Analysis,  and  Indexes. 


PHILO-JtrDJEUS,    Works    of.      The 

Contemporary  of  Josephus.  Trans,  by 
C.  D.  Yonge.     4  vols. 

PHILOSTORGIUS.    Ecclesiastical 

History  of. — See  Sozomen. 

SOCRATES'   Ecclesiastical  History. 

Comprising  a  History  of  the  Church  from 
Constantine,  a.d.  305,.  to  the  38th  year  of 
Theodosius  II.  With  Short  Account  of 
the  Author,  and  selected  Notes. 

SOZOMEN'S  Ecclesiastical  History. 
A.D.  324-440.  With  Notes,  Prefatory  Re- 
marks by  Valesius,  and  Short  Memoir, 
Together  with  the  Ecclesiastical  His- 
tory OF  Philostorgius,  as  epitomised  by 
Photius.  Trans,  by  Rev.  E.  Walford,  M.A. 
With  Notes  and  brief  Life. 

THEODORET  and  EVAGRIUS.    His- 

tories  of  the  Church  from  a.d.  332  to  the 
Death  of  Theodore  of  Mopsuestia,  a.d. 
427  ;  and  from  a.d.  431  to  a.d.  544.  With 
Memoirs. 

WIESELER'S  (Earl)   Chronological 

Synopsis  of  the  Four  Gospels.  Trans,  by 
Rev.  Canon  Venables. 


ANTIQUARIAN    LIBRARY. 

35  Vols,  at  5^.  each.     (8/.  i^s.perset.) 


ANGLO-SAXON   CHRONICLE.  —  See 

Bede. 

ASSER'S  Life  of  Alfred See  Six  O.  E. 

Chronicles. 

BEDE'S  (Venerable)  Ecclesiastical 
History  of  England.  Together  with  the 
Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle.  With  Notes, 
Short  Life,  Analysis,  and  Map.  Edit,  by 
J.  A.  Giles,  D.C.L. 

BOETHIUS'S  Consolation  of  Philo- 
sophy. King  Alfred's  Anglo-Saxon  Ver- 
sion of.  With  an  English  Translation  on 
opposite  pages,  Notes,  Introduction,  and 
Glossary,  by  Rev.  S.  Fox,  M.A.  To 
which  is  added  the  Anglo-Saxon  Version  of 
the  Metres  of  Boethius,  with  a  free 
Translation  by  Martin  F.  Tupper,  D.C.L. 

BRAND'S  Popular  Antiquities  of 
England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland.  Illus- 
trating the  Origin  of  our  Vulgar  and  Pro- 
vincial Customs,  Ceremonies,  and  Super- 
stitions. By  Sir  Henry  EUis,  K.H.,  F.R.S. 
Frontispiece.    3  vols. 


CHRONICLES    of  the    CRUSADES. 

Contemporary  Narratives  of  Richard  Cceur 
de  Lion,  by  Richard  of  Devizes  and  Geof- 
frey de  Vinsauf;  and  of  the  Crusade  at 
Saint  Louis,  by  Lord  John  de  Joinville. 
With  Short  Notes.  Illuminated  Frontis- 
piece from  an  old  MS. 

DYER'S  (T.  F.  T.)    British  Popular 

Customs,  Present  and  Past.  An  Account 
of  the  various  Games  and  Customs  asso- 
ciated with  diflferent  Days  of  the  Year  io 
the  British  Isles,  arranged  according  to  the 
Calendar.  By  the  Rev.  T.  F.  Thiselton 
Dyer,  M.A. 

EARLY  TRAVELS  IN  PALESTINE. 

Comprising  the  Narratives  of  Arculf, 
Willibald,  Bernard,  Saewulf,  Sigurd,  Ben- 
jamin of  Tudela,  Sir  John  MaundeviUe, 
De  la  Brocqui&re,  and  Maundrell ;  all  un- 
abridged. With  Introduction  and  Notes 
by  Thomas  Wright.     Map  of  Jerusalem. 


ANTIQUARIAN  LIBRARY. 


ELLIS  (G.)  Specimens  of  Early  En- 
glish Metrical  Roniances,  relating  to 
Arthur,  Merlin,  Guy  of  Warwick,  Richard 
CcEur  de  Lion,  Charlemagne,  Roland,  &c. 
&c.  With  Historical  Introduction  by  J .  O. 
Halliwell,  F.R.S.  Illuminated  Frontis- 
piece from  an  old  MS. 

ETHELWERD,     Chronicle   oi.  —  Set 

Six  O.  E.  Chronicles. 
FLORENCE    OF    WORCESTER'S 

Chronicle,  with  the  Two  Continuations  : 
comprising    Annals    of    English    History 
from  the  Departure  of  the  Romans  to  the 
Reign  of  Edward  I.     Trans.,  with  Notes,     j 
by  Thomas  Forester,  M.A.  i 

GEOFFREY  OF  MONMOUTH. 
Chronicle  oi.—Scc  Six  O.  E.  Chronicles. 

GESTA  ROMANORtnVI,  or  Enter- 
taining IMoral  Stories  invented  by  the 
Monks.  Trans,  with  Notes  by  the  Rev. 
Charles  Swan.     Edit,  by  W.  Hooper,  M.A. 

GILD  AS.    Chronicle  ot.—See  Six  O.  E. 

Chronicles. 

GIRALDUS  CAMBRENSIS'  Hlstorl- 

cal  Works.       Containing   Topography   of 
Ireland,  and  Historj'  of  the  Conquest  of 
Ireland,  by  Th.  Forester,  M.A.     Itinerary    : 
through  Wales,  and  Description  of  Wales,    I 
by  Sir  R.  Colt  Hoare.  I 

HENRY    OF    HUNTINGDON'S   His-    I 
torj'  of  the  English,  from  the  Roman  In- 
vasion  to   the    Accession  of  Henry   II.  ; 
with  the  Acts  of  King  Stephen,  and  the 
Letter  to  Walter.     By  T.  Forester,  M.A. 
Frontispiece  from  an  old  MS. 
INGULPH'S  Chroniclesof  the  Abbey 
of  Croyland,  with  the  Continuation  by 
Peter  of  Blois  and  others.      Trans,  with 
Notes  by  H.  T.  Riley,  B.A. 
KEIGHTLEY'S  (Thomas)  Fairy  My- 
thology, illustrative  of  the  Romance  and 
Superstition  of  Various  Countries.    Frontis- 
piece bv  Cruikshank. 

LEPSIUS'S    Letters  from   Egypt, 

Ethiopia,  and  the  Peninsula  of  Sinai ;  to 
which  are  added.  Extracts  from  his 
Chronology  of  the  Egyptians,  with  refer- 
ence to  the  Exodus  of  the  Israelites.  By 
L.  and  J.  B.  Homer.  Maps  and  Coloured 
View  of  Mount  Barkal. 

MALLET'S  Northern  Antiquities,  or 

an  Historical  Account  of  the  Manners, 
Customs,  Religions,  and  Literature  of  the 
Ancient  Scandinavians.  Trans,  by  Bishop 
Percy  With  Translation  of  the  Prose 
Edda,  and  Notes  by  J.  -•\.  Blackwell. 
Also  an  Abstract  of  the  '  Eyrbyggia  Saga 
by  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Uith  Glossary 
and  Coloured  Frontispiece, 


MARCO  POLO'S  Travels ;  with  Notes 
and   Introduction.      Edit,  by  T.  Wright. 

MATTHEW  PARIS'S  English  His- 
tory, from  1235  to  1273.  By  Rev.  J.  A. 
Giles,  D.C.L.  With  Frontispiece.  3  vols.— 
See  also  Roger  of  Wendover. 

MATTHEW    OF    WESTMINSTER'S 

Flowers  of  History,  especially  such  as  re- 
late to  the  affairs  of  Britain,  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Worid  to  a.d.  1307.  By 
C.  D.  Yonge.     2  vols. 

NENNTUS.  Chronicle  oi.—  See  Six 
O.  E.  Chronicles. 

ORDERICUS  VIT  ALIS'  Ecclesiastical 

History  of  England  and  Normandy.  ^^  ith 
Notes,  Introduction  of  Guizot,  and  the 
Critical  Notice  of  M.  DeliUe,  by  T. 
Forester,  M.A.  To  which  is  added  the 
Chronicle  of  St.  Evkoult.  With  Gene- 
ral and  Chronological  Indexes.     4  vols. 

FAULTS  (Dr.  R.)  Life  of  Alfred  the 

Great.  To  which  is  appended  Alfred's 
Anglo-S.^on  Version  of  Orosius.  With 
literal  Translation  interpaged.  Notes,  and 
an  Anglo-Saxon  Gram.mar  and  Glossary, 
by  B.  Thorpe.     Frontispiece. 

I    RICHARD    OF    CIRENCESTER. 

j        Chronicle  oi.—See  Six  O.  E.  Chronicles. 

ROGER  DE  HOVEDEN'S  Annals  of 

I        English  Historj',  comprising  the  History 
I        of  England  and  of  other  Countries  of  Eu- 
rope from  A.D.  732  to  A.D.  1201.      With 
Notes  by  H.  T.  Riley,  B.A.     2  vols. 

i    ROGER  OF  W^ENDOVER'S  Flowera 

of    Historj-,    comprising    the    History    ot 

England  from  the  Descent  of  the  Saxons  to 

I        A.D.  123s,  formerly  ascribed  to  Matthew 

I        Paris.     With  Notes  and  Index  by  J.  A. 

j       Giles,  D.C.L.    2  vols. 

i    SIX  OLD  ENGLISH  CHRONICLES  : 

i  ^•iz.,  Asser's  Life  of  Alfred  and  the  Chroni- 
cles of  Ethehverd,  Gildas,  Nennius,  Geof- 
frey of  Monmouth,  and  Richard  of  Ciren- 

!        cester.     Edit.,  with  Notes,  by  J.  A.  Giles, 

1        D.C.L.     Portrait  ot  Alfjred. 

WILLIAM     OF     MALMESBURY'S 

!  Chronicle  of  the  Kings  of  England,  from 
the  Earliest  Period  to  King  Stephen.^  By 
Rev.  J.  Sharpe.  With  Notes  by  J.  A. 
Giles,  D.C.L.     Frontispiece. 

YULE-TIDE  STORIES.  A  Collection 
of  Scan<linavian  and  North-German  Popu- 
lar Talei  and  Traditions,  from  the  Swedish, 
Danish,  and  German.    Edit,  by  B.  Thorpe. 


13 


BONN'S  LIBRARIES. 


ILLUSTRATED    LIBRARY. 

78  Vols,  at  5 J.  each,  excepting  those  marked  otherwise.     (19/.  "js.  6d.  per  set.) 


ALLEN'S   (Joseph,  R.N.)   Battles  of 

the  British  Navy.  Revised  edition,  with 
Indexes  of  Names  and  Events,  and  57  Por- 
traits and  Plans.     2  vols. 

ANDERSEN'S   Danish   Fairy  Tales. 

By  Caroline  Peachey.  With  Short  Life 
and  120  Wood  En^a\-ings. 

ARIOSTO'S     Orlando     Furloso.     In 

English  Verse  by  W.  S.  Rose.  With  Notes 
and  Short  Memoir.  Portrait  after  Titian, 
and  24  Steel  Engravings.     2  vols. 

BECHSTEIN'S  Cage   and   Chamber 

Birds  :  their  Natural  History',  Habits,  &c. 
Together  with  Sweet's  British  War- 
blers.   43  Coloured  Plates  and  Woodcuts. 

BONOMI'S  Nineveh  and  Its  Palaces. 

The_  Discoveries  of  Botta  and  Layard 
applied  to  the  Elucidation  of  Holy  Writ. 
7  Plates  and  294  Woodcuts. 

BUTLER'S  Hudibras,  with  Variorum 
Notes  and   Biography.      Portrait  and  28 

Illustrations. 

CATTERMOLE'S  Evenings  at  Had- 

don  Hall.  Romantic  Tales  of  the  Olden 
Times.  With  24  Steel  Engravings  after 
Cattermole. 

CHINA,  Pictorial,  Descriptive,  and 

Historical,  with  some  account  of  Ava  and 
the  Burmese,  Siamj  and  Anam,  Map,  and 
nearly  100  Illustrations. 

CRAIK'S  (G.  L.)  Pursuit  of  Know- 
ledge under  Difficulties.  Illustrated  by 
Anecdotes  and  Memoirs.  Numerous  Wood- 
cut Portraits. 

CRUIKSHANK'S  Three  Courses  and 
a  Dessert ;  comprising  three  Sets  of  Tales, 
West  Country,  Irish,  and  Legal  ;  and  a 
Melange.  With  50  Illustrations  by  Cruik- 
shanlc. 

Punch  and  Judy.    The  Dialogue  of 

the  Puppet  Show ;  an  Account  of  its  Origin, 
&c.  24  Illustrations  and  Coloured  Plates 
by  Cruikshank. 

DANTE,  !n  English  Verse,  by  I.  C.  Wright, 
M.A.  With  Introduction  and  Memoir. 
Portrait  and  34  Steel  Engravings  after 
Irlaxman.  j 


DIDRON'S   Christian   Iconography; 

a  History  of  Christian  Art  in  the  ^iiddle 
Ages.  By  the  late  A.  N.  Didron.  Trans, 
by  E.  J.  Millington,  and  completed,  with 
Additions  and  Appendices,  by  Margaret 
Stokes.  2  vols.  With  numerous  Illustrations. 

Vol.  I.  The  History  of  the  Nimbus,  the 
Aureole,  and  the  Glory;  Representations 
of  the  Persons  of  the  Trinity. 

Vol.  II.  The  Trinity;  Angels;  Devils; 
The  Soul ;  The  Christian  Scheme.  Appen- 
dices. 


DTER  (Dr.  T.  H.)  Pompeii:  its  BuUd- 

ings  and  Antiquities.  An  Account  of  the 
City,  with  full  Description  of  the  Remains 
and  Recent  Excavations,  and  an  Itinerary 
for  Visitors.  By  T.  H.  Dyer,  LL.D. 
Nearlj'  300  Wood  Engravings,  Map,  and 
Plan.     -js.  6d. 

Rome :    History    of  the    City,   with 

Introduction  on  recent  Excavations.  8 
Engravings,  Frontispiece,  and  2  Maps. 


GIL    BLAS.     The   Adventures   of. 

From  the  French  of  Lesage  by  Smollett. 
24  Engravings  after  Smirke,  and  10  Etch- 
ings by  Cruikshank.     612  pages.     6s. 


GRIMM'S  Gammer  Grethel;  or,  Ger- 
man Fairy  Tales  and  Popular  Stories, 
containing  42  Fairy  Tales.  By  Edgar 
Taylor.  Numerous  Woodcuts  after  Cruik- 
shank and  Ludwig  Grimm.     3J.  6d. 


HOLBEIN'S    Dance    of   Death   and 

Bible  Cuts.  Upwards  of  150  Subjects,  en- 
graved in  facsimile,  with  Introduction  and 
Descriptions  by  the  late  Francis  Douce 
and  Dr.  Dibdin. 


INDIA,  Pictorial,  Descriptive,  and 

Historical,  from  the  Earliest  Times.     100 
Engravings  on  Wood  and  Map. 

JESSE'S  Anecdotes  of  Dogs.  With 
40  Woodcuts  after  Harvey,  Bewick,  and 
others ;  and  34  Steel  Engravings  after 
Cooper  and  Landseer. 

KING'S  (C.  W.)    Natural  History  of 

Preciou?;    Stones    and    Metals.      Illustra- 
tions.    6s. 


ILLUSTRATED  LIBRARY. 


13 


LODGE'S    Portraits    of   niustrlous 

Personages  of  Great  Britain,  with  Bio- 
graphical and  Historical  Memoirs  240 
Portraits  engraved,  on  Steel,  with  the 
respective  Biographies  unabridged.  Com- 
plete in  8  vols. 

LONGFELLOW'S    Poetical    Works, 

including  his  Translations,  and  Notes.     24 

full-page  Woodcuts. by  Birket  Foster  aad 

others,  and  a  Portrait. 

Without  the  Illustrations,  3^.  (^d. 

Prose  Works.     With  16   full-page 

Woodcuts  by  Birket  Foster  and  others. 

LOUDON'S  (Mrs.)    Entertaining  Na- 

turallst.  Popular  Descriptions,  Ta^es^d 
Anecdotes,  of  more  than  50°  Anunals. 
Numerous  Woodcuts. 

MARRYAT'S  (Capt  ,  R-N-)  Master- 
man  Ready  ;  or,  the  Wreck  f^^^^^^^- 
(Written  for  Young  People.)  With  93 
Woodcuts.     3^'  ^d. 

Mission ;   or,  Scenes  in  Africa. 

^Htten  for'YouJig  People.)  Illustrated 
by  Gilbert  and  Dalziel.     3^.  td. 

Pirate  and  Three  Cutters.  (Writ- 

ten  for  Young  People.)  With  a  Memo^. 
8  Steel  Engravings  after  Clarkson  btan- 
field,  R.A.     zs.  6d. 

Privateersman.    Adventures  by  Sea 

and  Land  One  Hundred  \ears  Ag°- 
(Written  for  Young  People.)  8  Steel  En- 
gravings.    3^.  (>d. 

Settlers  in  Canada.    (Written  for 

Young  People.)  10  Engravings  by  Gilbert 
and  Dalziel.     3^.  6d. 

Poor     Jack.      (Written    for    Young 

People.)  With  16  Illustrations  after  Clark- 
son  Stanfield,  R.A.  3^-  ^d. 
. Midshipman  Easy.  With  8  full- 
page  Illustrations.  Small  post  8vo.  3^-  6rf. 
. Peter  Simple.  With  8  full-page  Illus- 
trations.    Small  post  Bvo.  3J.  (>d. 

MAXWELL'S  Victories  of  Welling- 
ton and  the  British  Armies.  Frontispiece 
and  4  Portraits. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  and  RAPHAEL, 

Their  Lives  and  Works.  By  Duppa  and 
Quatremere  de  Quincy.  Portraits  and 
Engiavings,  including  the  Last  Judgment, 
and  Cartoons. 

MUDIE'S  History  of  British  Birds. 

Revised  by  W.  C.  L.  Martin.  52  Figures  of 
Birds    and   7    coloured    Plates   of    tggs. 

2   vols. 


NAVAL   and   MILITARY   HEROES 

of  Great   Britain  ;    a  Record    of    British 
Valour  on   every   Day  in  the  y^r,  from 
William  the   Conqueror  to  the   Battle  ot 
Inkermann.     By  Major  Johns,  R.M.,  and 
Lieut.  P.  H.  Nicolas,  R.M.    Indexes.     24 
Portraits  after  Holbein,  Reynolds,  &c.   61. 
NICOLINI'S  History  of  the  Jesuits  : 
their  Origin,  Progress,  Doctrmes,  and  De- 
signs.     8  Portraits. 
PETRARCH'S    Sonnets,    Triumphs, 
and  other  Poems,  in  English  Verse.     With 
Life  by  Thomas  Campbell.     Portrait  and 
15  Steel  Engravings. 
PICKERING'S  History  of  the  Races 
of  Man,  and  their  Geographical  Distribu- 
tion ;  with  An  Analytical  Synopsis  of 
THE  Natural  History  of  Man.  By  Dr. 
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PAUSANIAS'  Description  of  Greece. 
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PHALARIS.  Bentley's  Dissertations 
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cles,  Socrates,  Euripides,  and  the  Fables 
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ham Moore.     Portrait. 

PLATO'S  Works.  Trans,  by  Rev.  H. 
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Dialogues.    A  Summary  and  Analysis 

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PLAUTUS'S  Comedies.  In  Prose,  with 
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PLINY'S  Natural  History.  Trans., 
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PLINT.     The   Letters   of  Pliny  the 

Younger.  Melmoth's  Translation,  revised, 
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Ethical   Essays.      Trans,    by   Rev. 

A.  R.  Shilleto,  M.A. 

Lives.    See  page  J. 

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SALLUST,  FLORUS,  and  VELLEIUS 

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duction.     Portrait. 

STRABO'S  Geography.  Trans.,  with 
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^- E   C    K   Gonner.  M.A.TLecturer.  University  College,  Liverpool.     -,s. 
SMITH  (Adam).     The   Wealth    of  Nations.     An  Inquiry  into  the   Nature  and 
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LAMB   (Charles).     Essays    of  Elia. 

With  a  Portrait. 

Last  Essays  of  Elia. 

Eliana.     With  Memoir. 

MARRYAT  (Captain).     Pirate  and 

the   Three    Cutters.      With  a  Memoir   of 
the  Author. 


Bohn's  Select  Library  of  Standard  Works. 

Price  IS.  in  paper  covers,  and  is.  6d.  in  cloth. 

1.  Bacon's  Essays.    With  Introduction  and  Notes. 

2.  Lessing'S  Laokoon.     Beasley's  Translation,  revised,  with  Intro- 

duction, Notes,  &c.,  by  Edward  Bell,  M.A.     With  Frontispiece. 

3.  Dante's  Inferno.    Translated,  with  Notes,  by  Rev.  H.  F.  Gary. 

4.  Goethe's   Faust.     Part  I.    Translated,  with   Introduction,  by 

Anna  Swanwick. 

5.  Goethe's   Boyhood.    Being    Part    I.    of   the    Autobiography. 

Translated  by  J.  Oxenford. 

6.  Schiller's  Mary  Stuart  and  The  Maid  of  Orleans.  Trans- 

lated by  J.  Mellish  and  Anna  Swanwick. 

7.  The  Queen's  English.    By  the  late  Dean  Alford. 

8.  Life  and  Labours  of  the  late  Thomas  Brassey.     By  Sir 

A.  Helps,  K.C.B. 

9.  Plato's  Dialogues  :  The  Apology— Crito—Phaedo— Protagoras. 

With  Introductions. 

10.  MOLIERE'S  Plays:  The  Miser— Tartuffe— The  Shopkeeper  turned 

Gentleman.     Translated  by  C.  H.  Walt,  M.A.     With  brief  Memoir. 

11.  Goethe's  Reineke  Fox,  in  English  Hexameters.     By  A.  Rogers. 

12.  Oliver  Goldsmith's  Plays. 

13.  Lessing'S  Plays  :  Nathan  the  Wise— Minna  von  Barnhelm. 

14.  Plautus'S  Comedies:  Trinummus  — Menaechmi  — Aulularia  — 

Captivi. 

15.  Waterloo  Days.     By  C.  A.  Eaton.     With  Preface  and  Notes  by 

Edward  Bell. 

16.  Demosthenes— On    the    Crown.      Translated    by    C.    Rann 

Kennedy. 

17.  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

18.  Oliver  Cromwell.    By  Dr.  Reinhold  Pauli. 

19.  The  Perfect  Life.     By  Dr.  Channing.     Edited  by  his  nephew, 

Rev.  W.  H.  Channing. 

20.  Ladies  in  Parliament,  Horace  at  Athens,  and  other  pieces, 

by  Sir  George  Otto  Trevelyan,  Bart. 

21.  Defoe's  The  Plague  in  London. 

22.  Irving's  Life  of  Mahomet. 

23.  Horace's  Odes,  by  various  hands.  {Out  of  Pritit. 

24.  Burke's  Ess.^y  on  'The   Sublime  and  Beautiful.'     With 

Short  Memoir. 

25.  Hauff's  Caravan. 

26.  Sheridan's  Plays. 

27.  Dante's  Purgatorio.     Translated  by  Cary. 

28.  Harvey's  Treatise  on  the  Circulation  of  the  Blood 

29.  Cicero's  Friendship  and  Old  Age. 

30.  Dante's  Paradiso.     Translated  by  Cary. 

31.  Chronicle  of  Henry  ^'III.    Translated  by  Major  M.  A.  S. 

Hume. 


WEBSTER'S    INTERNATIONAL   DICTIONARY. 


An  entirely  New  Edition  of  Webster's  Dictionary,  thoroughly 
Revised,  considerably  Enlarged,  and  reset  in  New  Type  front 
begijining  to  end. 

Demy  ^to.  2118  pages,  3500  illustrations.  ■ 

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In  addition  to  the  Dictionary  of  Words,  with  their  pronunciation,  ety- 
mology, alternative  spellings,  and  various  meanings,  illustrated  by  quotations 
and  numerous  woodcuts,  there  are  several  valuable  appendices,  comprising  a 
Pronouncing  Gazetteer  of  the  World ;  Vocabularies  of  Scripture,  Greek,  Latin, 
and  English  Proper  Names  ;  a  Dictionary  of  the  noted  Names  of  Fiction ;  a 
Brief  History  of  the  English  Language  ;  a  Dictionary  of  Foreign  Quotations, 
Words,  Phrases,  Proverbs,  &c.  ;  a  Biographical  Dictionary  with  10,000 
Names,  &c. 

This  last  revision,  comprising  and  superseding  the  issues  of  1847,  1864, 
and  1880,  is  by  far  the  most  complete  that  the  Work  has  undergone  during 
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treated  as  if  the  book  were  now  published  for  the  first  time. 


SOME  PRESS  OPINIONS  ON  THE  NEW  EDITION. 

'We  believe  that,  all  things  considered,  this  will  be  found  to  be  the  best 
existing  English  dictionary  in  one  volume.  We  do  not  know  of  any  work 
similar  in  size  and  price  which  can  approach  it  in  completeness  of  vocabulary, 
variety  of  information,  and  general  usefulness.'— (^wa^c/Zaw.  ,  . 

♦  The   most   comprehensive   and   the  most  useful  of  its  Vm^. —JSi ational 

'A  magnificent  edition  of  Webster's  immortal  Dictionary.' —  Z?^?'/)' 
Telegraph.  , 

'  A  thoroughly  practical  and  useful  dictionary.  —Standard. 

'  A  special  feature  of  the  present  book  is  the  lavish  use  of  engravings, 
which  at  once  illustrate  the  verbal  explanations  of  technical  and  scientihc 
terms  and  permit  them  to  remain  readably  brief.  It  may  be  enough  to  rater 
to  the  article  on  "  Cross."  By  the  use  of  the  little  numbered  diagrams  we  are 
spared  what  would  have  become  a  treatise,  and  not  a  very  clear  one.  .  .  . 
We  recommend  the  new  Webster  to  every  man  of  business,  every  father  ot  p. 
family,  every  teacher,  and  almost  every  student— to  everybody,  in  fact,  who  is 
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Si.  fames  s  Gazette. 

Prospectuses,  with  Specimen  Pages,  on  application. 

London  :  GEORGE  BELL  6c  SONS,  York  Street,  Covent  Garden. 


PT        Schiller,  Johann 
2473      Christoph  Friedrich 
W3       von,  1759-1805 
1891        Dramatic  works  of 
Friedrich  Schiller: 
Wallenstein  and  Wilhelm 
Tell. 

G.  Bell   (1691) 


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